


The Touch

by brynna



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, Sabrina Wallace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-02
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynna/pseuds/brynna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House meets a woman with a gift that defies all logic. His team doesn't trust her. Cuddy and Wilson know her secret. Rated M for language and sexual situations</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue/V.I.P.

**Author's Note:**

> AU because it strays from canon after "Honeymoon," omits occurrences in some Season 2 episodes and takes place in the days prior to and including Labor Day, 2006.
> 
> Disclaimers: I do not own, possess, or claim the characters presented herein, House, the Ducklings, Cuddy, Wilson et al. That stroke of luck belongs to David Shore and the Fox Network. Does anyone seriously think I could be making money from this drivel?
> 
> The OFC (Other Female Character) of Sabrina Wallace, her band Whistle Stop, her son Michael, housekeeper Elaine and other fictional folks do belong to me. Steal 'em and I'll beat you over the head with my cane. ;-)
> 
> I cannot, can NOT go without thanking my beta-reader, TrinityWildcat. She's become my right hand woman and I really appreciate all she's done for me. Go check out her fiction when you've finished with mine. I guarantee that even if you're not into CSI or Law and Order: Criminal Intent you won't be disappointed.
> 
> The spiritual beliefs expressed in this fic are not necessarily mine, although I relate to them and thought many of my readers would as well.
> 
> This is a "director's cut" of a sorts. Since I wrote this four years ago I've gained a bit in knowledge where the show is concerned and have made a few minor changes accordingly. Enjoy!

Lyrics Credit: “My Poor Old Heart” as sung by Alison Krauss and Union Station, 2004

* * *

“_Don’t expect too much from my poor old heart  
You can blame the unforgiven for my scars  
You might just be the best that I can find  
But I can’t seem to forget the tears I’ve cried _

_I don’t know that I will ever trust again  
It’s a price that I must pay for all my sins  
Time has changed me and left me full of doubt  
And my heart may be lost never to be found”_

* * *

Prologue - Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, August 2006

_The children always drew her._

Slowly she walked down the dimmed hospital corridor, taking advantage of the evening hours to slip away from the sick, the sleeping, the ones who cried themselves to sleep, or worse yet displayed no emotions at all. The slight sag in her shoulders revealed her own exhaustion, the guitar case just barely not dragging.

Yet she walked, her head held high, her hazel eyes taking in her surroundings with a combination of certainty and determination. The gypsy skirt that swished around her calves along with the crocheted poncho, the fringed scarf around her waist, the dark curls framing her expressive features, all lent an odd, unearthly appearance to her that he found at once attractive and disconcerting.

_Easy, Greg, my boy, you haven’t even said so much as boo to the woman. Keep it down._

He barked a low sardonic laugh and reached into his pocket for the Vicodin. _Like some big-time whatever-kind-of-singer she was would even look twice at him,_ he thought ruefully as he popped two pills and placed the bottle back in his pocket. _It didn’t matter. It never mattered._

Suddenly he turned to give her one last long look as she got onto the elevator, his blue eyes blinking with surprise to find the look reciprocated. _What the fuck?_ he thought, his eyebrows shooting up in spite of himself. She lifted a brow and smiled ever so slightly as the elevator doors shut, leaving him leaning on his cane and totally perplexed.

_Then again, there were the children._

He spun on his heels and limped his way back to his office.

* * *

Chapter One - V.I.P.

“Please, sing another one!”

“On one condition.”

“Anything, Sabrina!”

“I get an extra hug when I’m done.”

“You betcha!”

Sabrina laughed softly, winked at the young girl who was sitting cross-legged on the hospital bed, and went through a tuning riff on her guitar before settling on an old Irish love song. The girl’s eyes lit up with delight as did her parents, both of whom were acting as though they were in awe of her. It had taken every bit of persuasion she had in her to get them to sit back and relax.

At the song’s end she sat on the edge of the bed and extended her arms to the girl, who immediately went into the embrace with complete trust. Sabrina sighed and enfolded the child to her, rocking her gently side-to-side, shutting her eyes as her palm caressed the girl’s spine. _Just a little to the left, then… right there…_ a long easy breath escaped her as she pressed her lips to the top of the girl’s head. _May God go with you._

Once out in the hall she allowed her shoulders to slump. _Wilson was right,_ she thought tiredly. _If only she could clone herself._ She barked a humorless laugh and pushed herself away from the wall, intent on finding the break room or a soda machine. _Caffeine and sugar, that would do the trick,_ she decided as she moved forward, only to slam straight into a rock wall.

Only rock walls didn’t swear and nearly topple onto her. She let out a squeak of surprise and stepped back, only to come straight into the line of fire with blazing blue eyes. Nose-to-nose they stood, his hand leaning heavily onto her shoulder as his cane slid to the floor. _Helluva way to meet a handsome man,_ her brain muttered at her. _On the other hand, there were better ways to meet hunks, _a more perverse part of her replied as she let her eyes drift over him. Long legs encased in jeans led up to... _no, don't stop there_, she thought, her eyes taking in the fact he had no problem in the equipment department. _Damn._ Trim waistline, layered clothing consisting of a tee shirt, oxford with the tails hanging out, and a blazer finished the overall overly-casual, I-don't-give-a-damn look to him. Finally she reached his face, the soft brown curls tinged with gray, scruffy shadow, and those gorgeous blue eyes that at present were giving her a scowl.

“Dr. House, are you okay?” Voices rose around the two; she barely took in the nervous group of young doctors surrounding him, the flutter as they knelt to retrieve the folder and contents that had gone flying from his hands. He swore again and bent to pick up his cane, his forehead colliding with hers.

“Fuck!” he growled out. “Somebody, tell this… this…”

“Person?” she finished sweetly for him. He glared at her and nodded.

“Right. Person. V.I.P. As in Very Important Pain-In-The-Ass.”

“Or Very Immature Prick.”

Was that Wilson she heard snickering in the background? _James, get me out of this or you’re dead._

“I can assure you that my prick is plenty mature,” he countered softly, grinning slightly at the flush that crossed her cheeks.

“Too bad there’s not enough blood in the male body to supply both heads at the same time,” she shot back. His brows drew together and the smile vanished.

“Whatever. Get that damned guitar out of my way and take your need to salvage your soul by doing good deeds with you.”

_How many times had she been accused of that?_ she thought with a shake of her head as she retrieved the last scattered sheaf of papers and handed it to the young female doctor who was eyeing the entire scene with trepidation. Slowly she stood up, dusting off her knees as House rose to his full height, leaning on his cane heavily.

“So I see that you have the utter advantage of me,” she replied as Wilson moved forward quickly. “No, James, I’ll handle this,” she added archly to her old neighborhood buddy. “Obviously Dr. House has me diagnosed and in treatment, all without benefit of a full examination. Funny, I always thought doctors were more thorough when making their initial diagnosis.” She curled her lip in a sneer that caused those surrounding House to suck in their breaths. Slowly Sabrina stepped forward until she was within inches of his face, holding the gaze that had changed from sardonic to puzzled. _His eyes were so old, so beautiful._ “Okay, _Doctor,_ try examining this.” She closed her eyes and concentrated.

“Brina, wait…” She ignored Wilson and slipped into a place more astral.

_Pain. Loneliness. Bitterness. It came off the man in waves bordering on agony. Deep breath, hand outstretched to lie on one firm, biceped arm, one tiny surge, pull the hand back. Act like nothing happened. Wait. Too much for her. Not enough energy for what he needed. His soul blanketed over hers, reaching back with longing…_

Oblivion overtook her as she sank to the floor.


	2. Dr. House, I Presume?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credits:
> 
> "Dr. Livingstone, I Presume" © 1968 The Moody Blues
> 
> "Going No Where" © 1983 The Moody Blues

“_Somebody tell me you love me  
Somebody tell me you care  
I’ve got a heart full of giving  
Going no where.”_

  


Chapter Two - Dr. House, I Presume? 

“What in the hell did you think you were doing, Brina?”

Sabrina stirred from her position in one of Wilson’s guest chairs, taking another sip of the bottled water James had brought her. She’d protested going into E.R., instead insisting that all she needed to do was relax for awhile. Which was true - she hadn’t rested up from the little girl she’d been with earlier. Fortunately James backed her up, ignoring the odd looks that everyone gave him as he whisked House and the rest aside, helped her to her feet and had her in his office before anyone could raise a fuss. Never mind that Cuddy would raise a huge stink if she knew that the entertainer had collapsed in her hospital hallway. No, James had done the right thing, even if only Sabrina and he knew it. No doubt Cuddy would find out in short order, but he’d cross that bridge when he got there.

“Proving a point? I mean, you did warn me about House. How could I resist?” she admitted, watching as Wilson threw up his hands in frustration.

“Oh, that’s just great. Just great. You go out of your way to not reveal…”

“What?”

House was standing at the balcony entrance, one brow cocked at her. At the resulting silence he limped in, looking from one to the other. “It’s so much more entertaining to be in on a conversation when one’s being talked about, don’t you think?”

“Nah. I prefer outright gossip. It’s the female in me. I can’t resist ripping a person to shreds behind their back.”

A small choking sound caused House to glare at Wilson. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?” He smirked at the flush in Wilson’s cheeks.

“Here, let me try.” Suddenly an old song from the Sixties came to mind; she grinned and broke into a stanza. “’Doctor Livingstone, I presume, stepping out of the jungle gloom, into the midday sun.’”

He smiled slightly and softly sung rest of the stanza, surprising her with the smoothness of his vocals under the roughness, “'What did you find there? Did you stand awhile and stare? Did you meet anyone?’” _Oh, who could resist those dimples? And those eyes just delved right into her being._

Wilson coughed and they both turned to see him giving the pair a sly grin. “House, meet Sabrina Wallace. Sabrina, this prickly son-of-a-bitch is Greg House.”

“Prickly?” She lifted a brow at House and he smiled fully. Finally. _Oh, that was much better._

“Only if I'm rubbed wrong.”

Wilson ignored the double-entendre and interjected, “Which isn’t difficult to do.”

House snorted and reached into his pocket for the bottle of Vicodin, popping the bottle open one-handed and shaking a pill into his mouth. “This, my dear lady, is my addiction of choice. To answer your question in advance,” he added just before dry-swallowing the pill and shutting his eyes for a moment. _Get your bearings, __House_, he told himself firmly. Even with eyes closed he could still envision the sensuous curve of her smile, the hazel eyes that reflected pure devilishness, hair he could tangle his fingers in while she… _shit, there went those bearings, straight out the window._

“So, back to the subject at hand,” he finally said as he sank into another chair opposite her and propped his legs up on a stack of books. “You were trying to keep from revealing… what?”

“My presence here.” _Hopefully that would deter him; nope, from the look in his eyes he didn’t believe her._ “The last thing anybody here needs is a bunch of groupies tearing the hospital apart.” _He still didn’t believe her._ “After all, there is the performance here tomorrow afternoon.” _Ah, a blank look from him. Finally._ “You know… live performance…”

“In this hospital.”

“No, in some other hospital. I’m just advertising it here.” At the glare he shot her she added, “Make-A-Wish performance with Whistle Stop for one of the young patients here. Maybe you heard about the Darrelly case?”

He barked an unpleasant laugh. “Considering the kid is one of my cases, I guess you could say I’ve heard about it. And now his dying wish is to hear you and… your band, I assume, perform for him. Well, I’m sure he’ll enjoy it as much as you’ll enjoy the publicity.”

“Yeah, well, you know us famous people. We eat publicity for lunch. It’s even better than bringing smiles to dying kids’ faces.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, a finely honed skill her father had taught her when she was young. When James started to open his mouth she shook her head at him. _Let House find out on his own,_ she thought, taking grim pleasure in the way that James threw his hands up and sat back.

“Well, Doctor, this has been a meeting beyond my wildest expectations.” Sabrina rose to her feet, then bent to pick up her guitar. “We must do this again sometime.” With a sugary smile she extended her hand to House’s, taking note of the firm, callused grip, the single lifted brow as he rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. _Okay, the attraction was mutual, barbed comments aside._

Reluctantly she pulled her hand from his, enjoying the way he flashed his dimples briefly before releasing her. _Good. I’d hate like hell to be in this alone,_ she thought as her smile relaxed into one more genuine. With a quiet nod of the head she exited the room, leaving both men gazing after her. Finally Wilson snuck a sideways glance at his friend, taking in the thoughtful, dazed expression.

“And, what the hell was that about?” Wilson finally asked him. “Oh, that's right. She’s rich, she’s famous, and she’s a philanthropist. Ergo, hidden motive.” As House shot him a glare Wilson added, “Of course, your testosterone level didn’t go up the moment you first saw her, so I’m sure just being your charming self wasn’t a way of keeping her at a distance.”

There was an extremely brief pause, then, “What my testosterone level has to do with anything…”

_A-HA!_ Wilson thought triumphantly as he zeroed in on his friend. “I was right. You _are_ attracted to her. In fact, I’d bet if I hadn’t been here you’d been all over her like bees on honey.”

Snort. “No, I would’ve taken her into the supply room and nailed her. Better yet, Cuddy’s office, right on the sofa.” House rose tiredly to his feet and limped toward the balcony sliding glass doors. “So, when is this performance of your little friend’s?”

“Tomorrow, three p.m.. Conference room 401a. Why? You thinking of crashing?”

House shrugged. “I like music.”

“Huh. Not her kind of music.” When House gave him a puzzled look Wilson continued, “House, last I heard you weren’t into bluegrass.”

“So I’ll wear my cowboy boots and ten-gallon hat.”

“Jesus, you are one ignorant son-of-a-bitch, for a music lover. Bluegrass is folk music with origins in Ireland and Scotland.” Wilson shook his head. “Sabrina has enough awards for it to fill a mansion.”

“And I’m supposed to be impressed?” _Actually, he was, but he’d be damned if Wilson was going to find out_.

“No, but at least be informed before you go and make a total ass of yourself.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” was House’s muttered reply as he opened the balcony door and made his way back to his office.

* * *

Dr. Lisa Cuddy tipped her chair back, crossed her ankles neatly and propped both of them up on her desk, letting her skirt trail gracefully to the floor. Stretched out on her sofa was her friend, Sabrina Wallace. The other woman looked tired, and, for the moment, old beyond her years.

“Sabrina,” Cuddy finally said softly.

“If you're gonna reprimand me, forget about it.”

“You know better than to overdo it. This past year...”

“That's it. Remind me I'm an old lady now,” was the grumbled reply from the sofa. “Bad enough my only child is almost twenty, in college, and now he doesn’t want to come home for Labor Day Weekend. Going out of town with his friend,” she sniffed.

“They have to leave the nest sometime.”

“There you go reminding me again that I’m getting old.”

“Well, if you keep up this pace you will get old. You know it.”

Sabrina sighed and opened her eyes. “Lisa, I already know, okay? Ever since the surgery I've known time is running out.”

“Takes longer and longer to recover each time, doesn't it?” At the resulting silence Lisa went on. “And then you choose to… of all people, House. I warned you about him.”

“Yeah. But you didn’t tell me about his beautiful baby blues, either.” A groan came from Cuddy and Sabrina chuckled. “Baby blues, nice legs, great ass, all scruffy and dangerous-looking. Looks like he’s packing, too.”

“Oh good God…”

“Wonder what other uses he finds for that cane?”

At that Cuddy broke into a braying laugh, folding her arms onto her desk and resting her forehead on her hands. “Dammit, Brina, you haven’t changed one bit, have you?” she gasped out, wiping at the corners of her eyes. For a few moments the two shared laughter before she sobered thoughtfully.

“Sabrina?”

“Yeah?”

“I really do need to warn you.”

Sigh, then, “Warn away. You will anyhow.”

“Greg House… he’s not the most pleasant of people to know. He’s blunt, sarcastic and goes out of his way to put people at a distance.”

“I know.”

A short laugh, then, “You would. Just… just don’t try to fix him. He’ll resent you for it.”

“That's what worries me the most.” A deep breath, then, “I have no control over the urge to fix what's broken and something tells me he's very badly broken.”

“He is.”

“Not talking about the leg, right?”

“Right.”

“It's related to what happened to his leg, though.” Sabrina's voice went soft, trance-like. “And the cause... she still works here.”

“Yes. Sabrina, I...”

“She's a force to be reckoned with. Betrayal.” Suddenly Sabrina blinked and pulled herself upright. “Damn, I hate it when that happens,” she muttered. “All I need is a fucking crystal ball to make it complete.”

“Such language. Do you eat out of that mouth?”

Another snort. “I learned from the best, Cuddy.”

“Fuck yeah, you did.”

“Lisa?”

“What am I going to do?”

“Brina, you don't even know him.”

“But I do. That's the scary part. Those eyes... Lisa, one look into his eyes and I knew.”

“Great.” Cuddy rested her forehead on her hands. “My best friend is falling in love with my worst friend.”

“I didn't say...”

“You didn't have to.”

Both women fell silent before Cuddy finally spoke up again. “You said earlier you knew time was running out. How long?”

The voice from the sofa grew very soft. “A few days.”

“That soon? How do you know...” She sighed. “Never mind.”


	3. Rumor Has It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not a doctor or a nurse or anything else medically related other than being a patient on occasion. This chapter and the next called for a young person with a terminal illness that House and the Ducklings couldn't help. I didn't name the illness specifically because I drew a huge blank, researched, then gave up. I hope this doesn't detract from the overall readability of this fiction.
> 
> For those too young to remember, a party line was a telephone line shared by several customers in a town. The practice had nearly died down by the Seventies and I doubt if it's in use in the US these days, except for very remote areas. When the phone rang anybody could pick it up and answer. It was considered a courtesy to make one's presence known if they picked up the phone and somebody was already using it. Neighborhood gossips wouldn't and therefore get all the dirt on their neighbors.

Lyrics Credit: “You Make Loving Fun” as sung by Fleetwood Mac, 1977

* * *

“_I never did believe in miracles,  
But I've a feeling it's time to try.  
I never did believe in the ways of magic,  
But I'm beginning to wonder why.” _

_   
_

* * *

_  
_

  
Chapter Three - Rumor Has It

Given that there was a major celebrity performing that afternoon, the halls were a lot quieter than he expected. Every time House rounded a corner he half-counted on avoiding being tripped by a reporter. Instead, things were business as usual. _Odd._ He shrugged. He didn’t have time to focus on trivialities such as the lack of press attention, but still the thought nagged at him throughout the morning.

He even went as far as to check out the conference room Sabrina would be performing in, noting the low platform set up for a stage, a few small amps; that was it. Clean and simple. No banners, no signs.

“Contemplating creating chaos, House?”

Cuddy’s voice behind him made him freeze for a moment. _Damn that woman and her uncanny ability to sneak up on him like that._ “Well, a major disruption did occur to me. Suppose if I start knocking stuff over with my cane that would do the trick? No, wait,” he added, “not subtle enough. True chaos needs subtlety.”

“Subtlety has never been one of your shining qualities,” Cuddy replied dryly.

“Nor yours,” he replied easily, leering at her low-cut blouse. “Revealing more goodies today, Cuddy? You know, if you unbutton the top button it'll reveal more real estate. Might even get me interested.”

“For you, House, anything.”

“Or at least for our V.I.P..”

Cuddy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “She's not my type.” She cast a brief sideways look at him, remembering Sabrina’s words from the previous day. “On the other hand, rumor has it...”

“Wilson is worse than a girl,” House muttered as he exited the room, ignoring the snickering of his boss. _Damn, did the entire fucking hospital know about his having the hots for the woman? Stacy too? _He repressed a groan. Stacy was still in the peripherals, making occasional forays into his life and leaving emotional havoc in her wake. Sure, he still cared about her, in the “we used to be together and those feelings never really go away” kind of caring. A sudden curiosity came over him as he wondered what would happen if Sabrina and Stacy met. _Maybe it could be avoided. _Then again, maybe it was inevitable

Which led to problem number two, Cameron. He'd done his best to put her at a distance during her fellowship, but she had continued to hammer at him. Part of the problem with Allison Cameron was… well, she just hadn’t lived. Granted, she’d been widowed young, but still she lacked what a woman closer to his own age would have, and that was the seasoning of life. That feeling of looking into a woman’s eyes and knowing she’d understand the road a man had been down and back again. He liked the look of gracefully graying hair, lines around the eyes; why on earth women went to plastic surgeons to have wrinkles removed escaped him.

So he’d pushed the younger doctor away as best as he was able to manage, between sarcastic barbs and private conversations. To his relief she’d began to pull back a bit, finally settling on something more comfortable, and that was an odd sort of friendship peppered with sexual innuendo and snarky comebacks. _Okay, that he could deal with and was content to have._

_Girl trouble,_ he snarked to himself. _Old, graying cripple with females chasing him around. Forget “General Hospital.” He had plenty of drama to make up for it._

He limped into his office, drew the blinds, and opened the ones over the balcony windows. _Ah. Better._ With a sigh he settled into his chair and propped his feet up onto his desk, shutting his eyes to gather his thoughts. He’d spent time the previous evening and part of the day web browsing, combing through the Internet in order to find out what he wanted to know.

Sabrina Wallace and Whistle Stop, also known as SwwS, consisted of Sabrina on the fiddle _(fiddle? he’d wondered at first, until he heard a sound byte of her playing the instrument)_; Brian Beloit on the bass fiddle, Jon Evans on the Dobro, Ray Blount on the banjo; and finally the man who’d overdubbed on some popular film soundtrack _(he couldn’t recall the name right off hand)_ which had caused the renewal in popularity of bluegrass, and that was lead male vocalist Derrick “Del” Thomas, who played the mandolin and acoustic guitar. Sound bytes had revealed Sabrina's pure, breathy soprano that could either seduce or sadden, lift to the skies or plunge to the depths of the soul. That alone had not only made him go by a local music store to grab the band's latest best-selling CD, it also made him determined to attend this little performance. He had a good excuse. He was the kid’s diagnostician.

The rest of what he’d found out about her he ran lazily through his mind. Age forty-one, divorced ten years _(okay, hopefully no competition from that direction)_, mother of one son, Michael, who was attending Princeton University nearby. According to the official site bio she’d moved to Princeton to be near him between tours. The photos he’d found at the site both amused and intrigued him. In nearly all of them the men of the band was surrounding her protectively; in some shots the guys wore a look that plainly said, “Fuck with our Sabrina and you’re toast,” especially the big bearded one, Del. Getting past those four could be formidable. _Good._ _He loved a challenge._

Still, though… he sighed and reached into his sports coat for the Vicodin. What the web site and the related fan sites hadn’t revealed was what made her tick. He caught vague references to the “healing power of music” that seemed to purposely sidestep questioning. He frowned, recalling the faint, tingling going up his arm when she’d grabbed him, then the odd burning sensation in his right thigh just before she collapsed. _Then that... what had happened then? He'd felt as though she'd briefly become a part of him. _Nah

“Uh, House?”

He looked up from his musing to see Cameron eyeing him with a cocked brow of amusement. “And to what do I owe this honor? And...” his expression changed to one of mischief, “why the smirk? Get some in the supply closet?”

“Actually, while you were gone I propositioned Chase. We found your desk to be very... accommodating.”

“Ah. That would explain why the room smells like sex.”

“I thought that your viewing internet porn was the reason the room smells like sex.”

He looked at her admiringly. “You've done it. I have no answer.” He stood up and bowed. “I defer to your silver tongue, Dr. Cameron.” With that he grasped her hand, lifted it to his lips and pressed a light kiss on the back of it, getting an eye roll from her. “What? You doubt my sincerity? I'm crushed!”

“Huh.” She extracted her hand from his and lifted the other brow at him. “Sincerity is not exactly part of your mental makeup, House. Besides,” that smirk returned, “rumor has it...”

“Oh God, not you, too.” He reached for his cane and leaned on it. “Is that why you darkened my door? To prove you possess the feminine talent known as gossiping?”

“My source was hardly feminine,” she replied dryly.

“Wilson is worse than an old woman with a party line. Next thing you know I'll walk into that damned clinic and the patients will question me about...” He stopped in mid-sentence.

“Sabrina?”

“Shush.”

Cameron gave him a peeved look. “I don't 'shush' very well, thank you. What I did come here to tell you, though, is that the concert starts in about thirty minutes. I think Wilson is saving you a seat.”

“Probably out in the hall.”

* * *

Pre-concert energy flowed through Sabrina as she strolled down the hospital corridor, letting Del lead her by the elbow. Of the four he was the most protective, but then again he'd joined the band in his mid-teens, with Sabrina as the mother figure he'd never really had. Eighteen years later found him once divorced, twice shy, and hanging on with those who'd had more influence on him than his parents.

The conference room had the simple layout she and the guys had agreed upon. For one thing it would give them all the freedom to relax, to occasionally set aside an instrument and have fun with the small audience. The only people in attendance would be Robby Darrelly and his family along with a few hospital personnel.

Unlike big concerts they didn’t have all the fanciness, the roadies tuning up instruments, the huge wave of applause. Instead Sabrina simply walked in with the guys, grinning at the little boy who lit up the second he saw her from his position in a hospital recliner. So many tubes, so many machines keeping him alive, IVs with pain medication and fluids to keep him comfortable. Her smile slipped for a moment. He was dying. What he had could not be fixed.

“Robby?” She pulled up a stool next to the recliner and laid her hand on the boy’s thin one. “I’m happy to meet you, hon.”

“Oh, I’m happy to meet you, too, Sabrina!” He was smiling at her through the drugged haze he was in. “You’re very pretty. Almost as pretty as my mommy.”

She chuckled and touched his cheek. “Well, your mommy is quite a pretty lady. Listen, Robby, is there any one song you really want us to play for you?”

“Can Del sing ‘Man of Constant Sorrow’ for me?”

“Of course I can.” Del’s voice was gravelly from behind her.

She continued to stroke the five-year-old’s cheek for a while, inwardly shaking her head. There was nothing to reach for, as hard as she tried. Giving the boy one last pat she stood and turned for the stage, pausing at the sight of Greg House pulling up a chair by the door and propping his feet up on the back of Wilson’s. If there was one word to describe the look in his eyes it was _intense,_ she decided, holding his gaze for as long as she could as she mounted the stage.

“Well, boys, let’s get going,” she said softly as she retrieved one of her fiddles from its stand and cradled it in her arms.


	4. The Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credit:  
> "Let Me Touch You For Awhile" as sung by Alison Krauss and Union Station, 2001

“_I don’t hardly know you  
But I’d be willing to show you  
I know a way to make you smile  
Let me touch you for awhile.”_

* * *

Chapter Four - The Touch

Sabrina rarely went into autopilot when performing, and this time was no different. She took in every detail, the smile on the boy’s face, the gratitude of his parents. Then there were those from the hospital - her friends Wilson and Cuddy, the young female doctor watching her with such ferocity that she wondered where the source of the emotion came from, a couple of other young doctors that she recognized from the group who had been with House when she collided with him, and then finally the man himself. Those blue eyes penetrated hers for a long moment, causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms. _Damn, the man was gorgeous, _she thought, her breath catching when he grinned at her.

Then a tall, attractive brunette came up behind him, leaned over to whisper at him, got an annoyed look in return then was promptly ignored as he returned to gazing at Sabrina. The woman frowned then looked directly at her, a puzzled expression on her face. _Interesting. Competition. Betrayal. Wonderful, _Sabrina thought. _Don’t let her presence overshadow the performance._

_And what was up with Del? _Out of the corner of her eye she noticed him watching the female doctor with a peculiar expression she’d not quite seen on him before. _Well, the young lady was lovely, _she admitted. _Maybe he needed to get laid. _Quickly she smothered a smirk and continued.

The set would be a shortened version of their usual, which gave her freedom to take her fiddle to the boy’s chair and be more personal; she didn’t have to worry about memorizing anything new. Robby’s smile was infectious; she returned it as she swayed across the floor and back, singing of love lost and found, promises forgotten and redeemed.

With the music came the energy as always. Sabrina let it flow through her and continued to smile, not knowing that House was leaning forward, stunned and entranced.

_My God, what’s she doing?_ he wondered, unable to take his eyes off of her. _She… she crackled with whatever it was,_ he decided, not seeing her fellow band members shooting her wary looks, nor noticing Wilson stirring uneasily next to him. He sensed Stacy still standing behind him and felt her annoyance. _Tough shit. He had something much nicer to focus his attention on._

One thing he’d picked up on was the utter lack of press or publicity. _Great. Now he really owed her an apology, _he thought ruefully. _Saying he was sorry wasn’t exactly in his nature but he’d do his best. Maybe she’d like to go out for coffee after the concert._ The thought made him brighten up inside. _From coffee he could progress to lunch, then dinner and a night out. Yup. Start with coffee. Preferably today._

All too soon Cameron signaled that the boy was tiring and things gradually came to an end. One last time Sabrina descended the small stage and bent over Robby, her eyes shining with tears as she gently hugged him. “May God go with you,” she whispered, knowing that the energy she’d created would not work. _It had no place to go,_ she thought, fighting sobs as she tried to let it flow into him. _Nothing._ With a shaky smile she let Del lead her away, feeling the tide overtake her in waves as he helped her out into the hallway.

“Oh God, please help me,” she gasped out. “No… no place…”

“Sabrina, easy,” Del muttered. “Anybody have a place she can lie down?”

“Lying down… won’t work… need to…” Frantically she eyed the corridor. _No patients on this floor. Nobody to help, nobody to…_

A familiar rock wall stopped her and she reeled as House grasped her shoulder with his free hand. “Somebody, get her down to ER, stat,” he growled out. “Can’t you see she’s…”

_ER?_ she thought hysterically. _Well, that would be one way to solve her problem. Just walk down the waiting room and start touching people. Then again…_ Abruptly she brought her hand down on his right thigh, curled her other arm around his neck and let her head rest on his chest.

“Does this mean you like me?” he started to tease. Suddenly his eyes shut as tendrils of sweet energy slid into him like feathering crackles of electricity. His arms wound around her, molding her to him, his head resting against hers as they drew breath in unison.

_Slow. Easy. Together. He felt the warmth of her being, her soul as she beckoned to him. It was like tiny, warm fingers caressing his heart and he shuddered, pressing his lips to her temple, then her cheek, not hearing the surprised sounds of those that surrounded them as he finally lowered his head to hers. All he knew was that she was music and she was light, warmth and love. Her open mouth received his and they both swayed, unmindful of the cane that hit the floor with a thud. More, he thought hungrily, feeling her amusement and joy as she lifted him up higher than he’d ever been in his life. May God go with you…_

Finally, it started to ebb and the world came back to shouts and movement.

“Get her out of here, dammit.”

“Somebody get House…”

He was being lifted by strong arms, placed in… _a wheelchair?_ he wondered with a mental shrug. Slowly sight came back to him, finally returning in full as Chase wheeled him into his office, the others behind him as they assisted him into his easy chair. He felt a tissue on his cheek _(I’ve been crying?)_ and accepted it numbly.

“Are you okay, House?” Cameron asked. He shot her a hard look as his surroundings finally came into focus and abruptly got to his feet. _A little light-headed but okay_, he thought grimly, grabbing his cane. “No, wait, you shouldn’t…”

“Sure I should. I feel great,” he snarled in reply. “Where the hell is she?” At the resulting silence he added, “Now, kids, I’ll find out either the easy way or the hard way, but I will find out. Where. Is. She?”

“Cuddy’s office,” Foreman finally said. House nodded abruptly at him and limped his way out, leaving his three fellows staring after him. Finally Foreman stirred and looked at the other two.

“Now, will somebody please tell me what the hell that was all about?” Foreman said to nobody in particular. “She freaks out, they kiss, they both faint. Cuddy and Wilson rush her out of there like everything was normal and…” he paused for a moment while the other two contemplated the situation for a moment. “Oh, no way in hell is that possible,” he muttered as they stared at him.

“What?” Chase asked, his brows drawn together thoughtfully.

“Notice anything unusual?” Foreman replied. Cameron frowned, unable to put her finger on it. “His limp was different,” he finally finished.

“He... wasn’t in pain, right?” Cameron questioned softly as her two colleagues slowly nodded their heads. “Something really strange is going on here. Need a challenge, guys?”

* * *

_  
No pain. Of course there wouldn’t be._ He strode purposefully, still limping but not as cautious as before. Surprised looks came from those that knew him and he ignored them, bee lining for Cuddy’s office. With a quick hard movement he pushed his way through the door, not surprised at the crowd around the sofa. Cuddy and Wilson were bending over Sabrina; Stacy was pacing, agitated and muttering about a celebrity collapsing in her hospital and the legal ramifications. The men of the band took one look at him and began closing ranks.

“Out!” House ground out. “All of you.”

“Buddy, I don’t think so,” Del replied quietly, coming directly in front of him. House merely rolled his eyes at him.

“Oh, can it with the macho bullshit,” he retorted. “Out, big guy, or I’ll shove this cane up your ass.”

“Guys, it’s okay.” Sabrina’s voice sounded weak and he inwardly berated himself. _Dammit to bloody fucking hell._ “You can leave. Please.”

“We’ll be right out in the hall.” Del shot him one last hard look before leading the others out, leaving the two doctors still bent over her and Stacy still pacing.

“You two, out.” When Cuddy began to protest he added, “I’m a goddamned doctor, too, and better than you. Out. And you,” he continued to his ex-girlfriend, “can leave. If she wants to sue the hospital...”

“She doesn’t,” Sabrina said softly. “Please leave.” Stacy opened her mouth as if to say something, paused when she caught the look on House’s face and quietly left the room.

That left the two alone. House took a deep breath and took the chair that Cuddy had vacated next to Sabrina, automatically getting out his stethoscope. _Had to see for himself she was all right,_ he thought grimly.

“They’ve already done all of that,” she protested as he proceeded to listen to her heart and lungs, checked her pulse. “Lisa gave me a shot of B vitamins.”

“Vitamins? Jesus fucking Christ,” he grumbled.

“It’s all I need. Rest, fluids, build-up. I swear.” She fell silent for a moment, then said, “Greg?”

“Yeah?”

Still silent. He looked up and inwardly winced at the reproach in her eyes. _Great. Rejection, here I come._

“What you just did to my friends really wasn’t necessary.” Sabrina paused, then continued, “I’ve known almost all of them most of my life and they don’t deserve that sort of treatment.”

House shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead, speechless. _How could he answer that one?_ he wondered, feeling self-loathing settle like a dead weight on his shoulders. _Nothing like a lousy first impression to get off to a good start, _he thought gloomily. The softness of her hand on his made him look up to see her gazing at him thoughtfully.

“You’re not the most socially adept man I’ve ever met, Greg,” she finally said, “and I’m not one of those women who demands ‘change’ by any means. Just... work on it a bit, okay?”

_Reprieve._ He let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and nodded. “Yeah, uh, I’m sorry.”

“Painful, huh?” The faintest quirk of a smile played on her lips.

He barked a laugh and laid his hand across hers. “You don’t know the half of it,” he replied quietly, enfolding her small hand in his large callused one. “I don’t apologize too often. Mark it in your diary.” _Whipped. Already. It felt... odd, but good._

“Consider it duly noted and recorded.” Mischief twinkled in her eyes as she squeezed his hand reassuringly.

He sighed and rose to his feet, noticing the very faint twinge of pain. It was returning. Cautiously he assisted her to a sitting position, then sat down on the sofa and coaxed her back down to rest against his shoulder. “Comfortable?” He felt her nod. “Good. Now you can tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Short version or long?”

“Both.”

“Hope you have awhile.”

“I have an entire lifetime of awhile.”

She digested that, wondering at his remark’s implication. “Okay.” She stretched and turned to snuggle against his long frame. “Better.”

“Go.”

A chuckle escaped her. “You make it sound so easy.” Silence, then, “When I was eleven my younger brother died of leukemia.”

“I’m sorry.”

A nod from her. “There I was, standing while they lowered him into the ground, and all I could do was pray. I asked God if I could help other kids not suffer like he did.”

“And it happened.”

“Actually, the next day two things happened.” Sabrina paused, then said, “I started my period and my baby sister fell off of a swing. I ran to her, put my hand on her cut forehead to stop the bleeding and the cut went away.”

He blinked. “Correlation between the hormone change and your ability to heal?”

“Yeah. At first I healed mostly baby animals. Then it was bumps and bruises on the playground. They had to promise not to tell anyone.”

“And they didn’t.”

“You bet. Wasn’t always that easy. Sometimes, I did it without them knowing.”

“Sometimes? Like an entire hospital pediatric ward is ‘sometimes’?”

He felt her shrug. “It was either that or go crazy knowing I could help those kids and not be able to do anything about it. Especially after tours. All pent up. So I volunteered to sing to children at PPTH. Besides, at the worst they’d get to hear some nice music and at the best it would work and they’d be healed. No harm, no foul.”

“I wouldn’t call what just happened to me ‘no harm, no foul,’” he replied dryly. _Then again, the sweetness of her lips and body against his…_

“Two things.”

“Yeah?”

“In the process of wanting to heal that kid I… I went overboard. I’ve never done that before,” she admitted.

“He’s terminal.”

“Yeah, and I should know better. I can’t fix what’s missing or broken beyond all repair.” _My leg,_ House thought as she continued. “But those eyes of his, the grief of his parents.” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “You should have heard the butt-chewing I was getting before you forced your way in.”

“They beat me to it,” he growled in reply. “You do that again and I’ll personally turn you over my knee.”

“Ooo, kinky. I knew there was a reason why I’m attracted to you.”

His breath caught at the admission. “You said two things.”

“Yeah. You’re an adult. I’ve never been able to heal adults. Maybe pain relief, but it’s so temporary it’s not worth it. Maybe a few seconds. Which reminds me.”

He sighed and reached into his blazer for the Vicodin. “It’s starting to come back.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m used to it.” He popped open the bottle, slipped a pill into his mouth, dry-swallowed it and sighed. “So, why not adults?”

“Children don’t have preconceived notions of what is possible and what isn’t. Remember, they believe in Santa Claus, the tooth fairy and the Easter Bunny. They have faith. At least, that’s the best conclusion I could come up with.” She tipped her head to gaze up at him curiously. “You don’t believe in God, do you?”

“I don’t know what to believe in,” he admitted, jumping when she laid her hand on his right thigh again.

“Because of this.” He felt the softness of her fingertips trace the outline of missing muscle in his thigh. _Dammit, if she kept that up he would embarrass both of them_. “You have been through so much, Greg,” she said quietly. “When we… joined I could feel the beauty of what lay inside of you and it made me want more.”

His throat tightened and for once he had no sarcastic comeback. “That’s about the nicest damn thing anybody has ever said about me,” he said gruffly, reaching to tip her chin up so their eyes could meet. _Now he was getting all mushy and emotional. This wouldn’t do. Time to lighten things up a bit. _Remembering his thoughts during the concert, he took a deep breath and hoped it got it right.

“Okay, the next step is coffee.” _Oh, that was graceful._

“Huh?”

“You know, standard dating procedure. It’s either that or ask you if you want to get naked on my desk. However, standard procedure indicates coffee first.”

“Then get naked on your desk?” She was smiling impishly.

He pretended to look shocked. “Why, how dare you? I’ll have you know I’m not that easy.” That melodic chuckle combined with her hand on his thigh was getting the better of him. The impulse to kiss her overwhelmed him; he gave in and bent his head to hers.


	5. Introductions Are In Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credit:  
> "If I Didn't Know Any Better" as sung by Alison Krauss and Union Station, 2004

“_I turned around  
Before I could run  
I found you already settled down in the back of my mind”_

* * *

_  
Finally_, Sabrina thought, her lips parting beneath Greg’s. Slowly he rotated his head, his fingers threading into her hair. His tongue grazed against hers and she shivered, pressing closer to him, taking in the feel of his whiskers against her skin, the long elegance of his hands in her hair.

“Uhmm.” It was the best she could manage when he finally lifted his head, a dazed expression on his face. She reached up to trace the outline of his lips with trembling fingers.

“Yeah.”

“Coffee?” A sigh escaped her when he kissed her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Your place or mine?”

“Mine, I’ve got fresh beans and a grinder and… uh… I’m not up to…”

He dimpled. “I’m a doctor, Sabrina. I think I can diagnose exhaustion just fine.” When she let out a sigh of relief he added, “Not that I don’t have a few things in mind, mostly involving a lot of kissing and groping.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Thank you.”

“So…”

Sabrina was the first to stand, surprised at how wobbly her legs were. _Damn!_ she thought, grateful when he rose, leaned on his cane, and extended his left elbow to her. “This oughta be interesting,” she said aloud, hearing his affirming snort as they slowly made their way to the door.

“Yeah, a cripple holding up a damsel in distress.”

“A regular knight in shining armor,” she replied sweetly, snickering when he raised a brow at her. “Got a sword hidden in that cane somewhere?”

“Are you saying you want to see my weapon?”

The words left his lips just as he opened the door to reveal Del, arms across his chest and a dangerously annoyed expression on his face. Behind him Cuddy and Wilson were pushing their way forward, hoping to deflect the bigger man. Too late. Greg came nose-to-nose with the big guitarist, his expression totally unfazed.

“So, are you going to move or will we have to water you on a daily basis?” House said coolly.

Del snorted and continued the stare down. “Sabrina?”

“Come on, let's talk. Greg, can you excuse us for a moment?”

House watched as the two went further down the hall and started talking softly, uncertainty creeping back into him. _How had this beautiful, inside-and-out woman fallen into his path like that? _he wondered, all the old self-doubts tormenting him. _House, you fuck this one up and somebody should shove this cane up your ass. Handle first._

* * *

“Sabrina, are you out of your mind?”

She watched as Del paced in front of her, his expression agitated. “Probably,” she admitted. When he groaned she added, “Del, remember all of those conversations we’ve had over the years since our respective divorces, about finding the _one_, the person whose soul would join with yours? Remember that?”

“Yeah, I remember,” the younger man admitted reluctantly. “But, Brina, this guy has a rep here for being an unfeeling jerk.”

“You don’t understand, hon.” She touched his bearded cheek lightly. “It’s not that Greg doesn’t feel. If anything, he feels too much. He cares too much. All this,” she waved her hands to indicate the hospital, “bureaucracy, the conforming, the corporate policies, frustrate the hell out of him. He wants to do his job, not kiss ass.”

“You got all this when...”

“Yup. He’s the one, Del. Trust me on this.”

For a moment Del gave her a long look, his dark eyes regarding her thoughtfully. Suddenly he broke into a smile and swept her to him, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I hope this guy realizes how lucky he is,” he told her as he continued to hug her.

“More how lucky I am,” was her quiet reply as they began their slow walk back to where House was standing, alone, waiting for her, twirling his cane nervously. “And for God’s sake, lose the ‘macho bad ass’ routine, okay?”

“It's hard, Brina,” he admitted. “After all you and the guys have done for me over the years...” His voice trailed off as his head turned, then followed the movement of the young female doctor... _Cameron?_ Sabrina thought as the woman approached Greg with a clipboard and a pen. She looked up at Del and blinked at the dazed expression he was wearing.

“Earth to Thomas,” she teased softly, waving her hand in front of his eyes. Immediately he started, cleared his throat, then blushed up to his hairline. “Pretty, isn’t she?”

“Understatement. I’ve never seen anything like her. She was at the performance and all I could think was... ”

_Oh, geez, put him out of his misery._ They finally reached House and Cameron, who appeared to be having him look over some notes from a case. Once again Cameron gave her a possessive _hurt-him-and-you’re-dead_ look that nearly sent her in reverse. _No,_ she thought, grateful when House extended his free arm to hers.

“Introductions all around are in order, don’t you think, Greg?” she said pleasantly, getting an eyeroll and a “do I have to” look from him. “And yes, you have to.”

“Pw'd,” he grumbled, glaring when Cameron smothered a chuckle. “Okay, smart-ass, introduce yourself,” he retorted to his underling.

“Dr. Allison Cameron. I’m on House’s team,” Cameron said, extending her hand to Sabrina’s. Immediately a sense of sadness overwhelmed Sabrina, enough that she suddenly pulled the younger woman to her for a hug. Cameron stiffened for a moment, then relaxed at the warmth that filled her.

“I am so happy to meet you,” Sabrina told her softly. _She couldn’t heal this one, but maybe..._ she looked at Del, who was eyeing her with pure envy. “And this is Derrick Thomas, our male lead vocalist... let’s see, he plays the mandolin, the guitar...”

“Jack of all trades, master of none. Just call me Del,” Del said agreeably as he grasped Cameron’s hand in his. They both stared at each other for a long moment, his other hand coming down on hers to clasp and enfold it. Meanwhile Sabrina noticed House looking back and forth between the two, one brow lifted quizzically. Finally the light bulb switched on over his head and the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Derrick, could you do me a favor?” Sabrina finally interjected, taking silent delight in the way both flushed and broke off the handshake. “Make sure my car gets home.” She handed him the keys. “Just drop them in my mail slot.”

“And no further, right?” Del’s eyes started to twinkle with mischief.

“Right.”

“Might interrupt something.” When she gave him a peeved look he chuckled, “You behave, kiddo.”

“Never.”

“Kiddo?” House commented once they finally made it to the parking deck. “Kiddo?” He couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his tone. “You’re forty-one and they still call you… kiddo?”

“I joined the band when I was eighteen, Del a few years later when he was sixteen. The guys still sometimes treat me like a little girl.”

“Believe me, the last thing I would do is treat you like a little girl.”

“I’m hoping you don’t.”

At the sight of House’s 1965 red Corvette she paused, then turned to him with a lifted brow. “Mid-life crisis car?”

“Huh.” He unlocked the passenger-side door and opened it for her with a flourish. “So much you know. This car was graft from a mobster for faking medical records. Fortunately that incident happened to fall during a mid-life crisis.”

“Graft.”

“Yup.”

“From a mobster. A real-life mobster.”

“Mobsters are much more interesting if they’re real as opposed to fake, don’t you agree?”

“Why... no, forget it. I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Of course you want to know. Now, whether or not I’ll tell you is a different issue.”

He chuckled at her very unladylike snort as he shut the door and limped his way around to the driver’s side. “Hope the bluegrass lady doesn’t mind a little rock and roll,” he said slyly as he slid in behind the wheel, cranked over the car and grinned as a classic rock station blared out of the custom stereo he’d had installed. In turn she batted her eyelashes at him then proceeded to sing along with “Fat Bottomed Girls” in perfect harmony with Freddy Mercury.

“That tears it. Who can resist a girl who loves Queen?” he quipped as he pulled out of the parking deck, pausing to give her hand a squeeze before sliding into the Plainsboro traffic.


	6. Coffee, Tea or House?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credit:  
> "The Back of Your Hand" as sung by Dwight Yoakum, 2003

“_Take a guess at where I stand  
Pick a number one to two  
Take a look at the back of your hand  
Just like you know it  
You know me too.”_

* * *

Greg House had expected Sabrina’s home to ooze wealth, fame and fortune. Granted, the residence was spacious _(hell, his entire condo could damned near fit in her great room)_ but, instead of flashy, the great room especially was all about hardwood floors, throw rugs, comfortable furniture with cushions, afghans tossed casually over furniture backs, and books. _Lots of books,_ he noted, lined in antique bookcases. The sofa and chairs faced a fireplace; a wet bar was at the other end. And… his eyes widened… hanging over the fireplace was a wide-screen high-definition television; shelved alongside it was a TiVo box, DVD player, and VCR. Visions of “General Hospital” danced before his eyes; he realized she was giving him a puzzled look and shook himself.

“So, does the Merry Maid brigade maintain this place for you or are you like the Fairy Godmother – one wave of the wand and it’s clean?”

He saw the shake of her head as she sat on the long sofa and stretched her legs out with a sigh of relief. “I have a housekeeper,” she finally admitted, her cheeks flushing under his scrutiny. “What good is having all that money if…”

“You can’t enjoy it,” he finished for her, his eyes starting to twinkle when she stuck her tongue out at him. “Got room for me on that couch?”

“Only if you make coffee first.” She indicated the wet bar. “For being a smart-ass.”

Once settled next to her, his long legs propped on the coffee table _(and she didn’t object, _he marveled) in front of them, he lazily draped an arm around her shoulders; took a swig of the coffee _(good shit, too)_ and let out a sigh. “Okay, I’ve decided on something,” he finally said.

“What?”

“I’m going to move in with you, then take shameless advantage of your wealth.”

She snorted a laugh and the coffee almost went flying out of her nose. “Jesus, Greg,” she gasped out between giggles.

“Only one thing would make this perfect. What do you have stashed on that TiVo?”

“Uhmm…” She was blushing. “It’s a girl thing, uh…”

“Try me.”

“Soap operas.”

“’General Hospital’?” He tried not to sound too hopeful.

“Yeah, uh…”

House lunged for the remote control sitting on the coffee table. “Thank God. I was starting to go through withdrawals. Your little concert interrupted my show.”

“Sorry to have inconvenienced you,” she replied dryly, grinning when he searched until he found the soap opera, then settled back and pulled her head against his shoulder again. The last thing she’d expected was that the man everyone had warned her as being insensitive and sarcastic was sweet and funny. Insensitive, definitely not. If anything, _too_ sensitive; the sarcasm was a mask for the pain inside of him. Sabrina let out a sigh and snuggled closer to him, shivering when he idly ran his thumb along her ear, then down the side of her neck.

A sideways look revealed that he was intently watching the screen, emotions playing all over his features in reaction to the story. Greg wasn’t classically handsome; his features were almost too sharp, hawk-like in nature, cheekbones too angular. No, pretty boy good looks weren’t what made him handsome. It was the impish smile, the dimples, the vivid blue eyes, the ever-present shadow and tousled curls that at present she was dying to run her fingers through.

Another thought occurred to her. _If his injury effected his walking, what else could be hampered? What about those painkillers he was taking? One thing at a time,_ she told herself firmly. He didn’t seem to be overly worried about it, if his attitude was anything to judge from.

Suddenly the screen went dark and she realized the show was over. A light thump told her that the remote had landed on the coffee table; the shift in his body told her that his interest was changing direction. The arm that had been around her shoulders slid down to her waist; his free hand reached up to cup her cheek and turn her to him. Nervously she reached up to trace his lips, then down, around his neck, finally his hair. She sighed when his breath skittered across her cheek.

“Kissing and groping, huh?” she said softly as he brushed his mouth lightly across hers.

“Yeah.”

With that, he lowered his head to claim her mouth with his. His tongue flicked across her lips and they parted for him. A soft moan came from her when he began exploring her mouth, the arm around her waist tugging her firmly up against him. _Been so long since she'd felt the hard warmth of a man's body against hers,_ she thought as she went pliant, sliding her arms under his blazer, seeking the lean muscles beneath his shirt. A low rumble coming from him told her he liked what she was doing. Emboldened, she unbuttoned his oxford shirt and slid her hands under that, loving the feel of tee shirt knit covering his skin.

Not breaking the kiss he disentangled from her arms and slid off the blazer and oxford, then tossed them aside. Once again he tugged her against him, more firmly than before, his head rotating above hers, his tongue more insistent. She responded in kind and one hand slid up to tangle in her hair, then tip her head back. When his mouth left hers, she let out a whimper of frustration, only to replace it with a moan when his tongue came in contact with the underside of her jaw.

“Greg,” she sighed, feeling his lips curve in a smile as he began a slow, lazy nibble down the side of her neck. His teeth caught lightly at the sensitive flesh beneath her ear and she shuddered, arching against him, her hands clinging desperately to his shoulders. He lifted his head, his gaze burning into hers.

“Take notice,” he muttered, bending his head again. A cry escaped her when he nipped more firmly beneath her ear, drew her tender skin into his mouth and sucked. _Good God_, she thought wildly, holding him firmly against her, a whimper coming from her when he raked his stubble across the love bite. The act shot straight to her core and her hips twisted involuntarily, eliciting a low breathy chuckle from him.

“Marking… your territory?” she gasped out when he licked his way down to her collarbone, nuzzled aside her blouse, then nipped again on the rise of her breast, soothing the bite with his tongue, then dragging his whiskers over it.

“Damned right,” was his growled reply. “Any man who sees this will know you’ve been claimed, lady. And for the record, I don’t share.” A blush crawled across her features and he gave her a predatory grin. “What?”

“I've never had anyone, uh, do that to me...”

“I almost hate to ask...” _No, _he thought. _Surely a woman her age had more experience than that._

“Yes, I've had sex,” she said with a wry grin. “I have a son to prove it. Just that my ex wasn't very inventive. And since then,” her blush heightened, “well, I got tanked once and there was this male groupie... and since he was about three sheets to the wind it wasn't the best experience in the world.”

“You don't want to hear where I've been,” he said gruffly, his eyes not making contact with hers. _Damn, _he thought. _Compared to him she was practically an innocent. And she'd lived the better part of twenty-five years on the road, too._ “How...did you not... fuck, this isn't coming out right,” he muttered. “I mean, you were on the road…”

“How did I not gain more experience than what my marriage had to offer?” When he nodded, still not looking directly at her she sighed and reached to cradle his cheeks in her hands. “Greg, please look at me. Please.” _How could he resist? _he wondered, lifting his eyes to look into hers. “You know something?”

“What?” _He just wanted to drown in those hazel eyes forever._

“Who says… who says we have to uncover every single detail of each other’s life at once? I-I… prefer unfolding the mystery, layer-by-layer.” The flush was back in her cheeks, although he sensed not from embarrassment. _No,_ he decided as a faint musky scent reached his nostrils, causing his heartbeat to pick up as he drew closer to her again. “We have,” she added as he brought his forehead against hers, “all the time in the world. Someday,” her fingertips traced the depression on his right thigh where once had been living tissue, “you’ll tell me how this happened and we’ll probably both shed some tears,” he snorted and she laughed softly. “In turn you’ll get to hear my whole silly sad story, then we can go out and get drunk…”

“Or make out like crazy,” he deadpanned, letting his lips brush against hers.

“Yeah.”

“Or fuck like monkeys.”

At that she lost it in a burst of giggles, getting his breathy laugh in return as he dropped a kiss on her ear, then began nibbling playfully down her neck again. She tipped her head back to give him ready access, still laughing, then squirming when his tongue snaked out to lap where her collarbone met her neck.

“Dammit, Greg, what ever am I going to do with you?” she said on a moan as he drew another love bite there. “I’ll have to wear a scarf tomorrow.”

“Good. Nobody will see your skin but me,” he replied huskily. “Only you and I will know why you’re wearing it. If that isn’t hot, I don’t know what is.”

“Okay.” She gently pushed him back. “Turnabout is fair play, Gregory House.”

Sabrina lifted her mouth to his, taking delight in the groan that came from him when she took a tug on his bottom lip with her teeth. Encouraged, she took soft nibbles along his jaw line, careful not to give herself whisker burn. The sounds he was making told her she was on the right track, she decided when she nipped lightly at his earlobe.

“So, Dr. House,” she purred in his ear, “should I hide the evidence or cause you undue embarrassment tomorrow at work?”

“Hide the…”

Too late. She sucked on the skin under his earlobe and he growled, his fingers tunneling into her hair and holding her hard against him. That growl shot straight to her inner thighs, causing her to get even more wet than she’d already been. _Oh damn_, she thought as his hands abruptly slid to her shoulders and guided her down to her back on the sofa. Within a heartbeat he followed, his hard, wiry frame coming down against her, draping his bad leg over the side of the sofa and wedging his good one between her thighs. His denim-covered erection pressed against the crest of her thighs and she moaned, winding herself around him. _So much for painkillers hampering_ that, _anyway._

“And here I was wondering…” _Shit! You and your big mouth, _she thought.

“What?”

“If your leg would keep you from, I mean, that is, oh crap.”

His breathy chuckle in her ear made her shiver. “Oh, trust me, my leg doesn’t keep me from pleasurable activities.” He undulated his hips and she clung to him. “Just have to be a little… inventive at times.”

“Invention sounds like fun to me,” she gasped out, feeling that predatory smile against the side of her neck.

“Of course.” He nibbled his way over to her mouth, then nipped at her lower lip, enjoying the way she was coming undone beneath him. Suddenly another thought occurred to him and he let out a groan of frustration. _Dammit, he hadn’t thought to at least stop by the clinic and grab a condom on the way out. Way to go, lover boy._

“Christ,” he muttered against her lips, feeling her shudder beneath him as he thrust lazily against her. _His thigh was aching, but nothing like what other parts were doing._ “Getting carried away,” he continued with a grumble, resting his forehead against hers. Her eyes closed briefly and she took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“It’s not as though I’m ‘not up to it’ anymore,” she finally replied, reluctant to have him move off her. “I mean, we could…”

“Got any protection around?” he asked bluntly, tracing her cheek with his fingers. She blushed and shook her head. “Well, I’m not in the habit of carrying condoms in my wallet, either. And you’re too young to risk it.”

“I-I can’t… I can’t get pregnant, Greg.” When he stared at her she continued, “I had a complete hysterectomy a year ago. I… had benign tumors, bleeding.” Her throat tightened, remembering how she sobbed to Lisa over the phone when she got the news. “I didn’t want to; I was too young, so much left to do.”

“That’s why… why healing is harder for you now.” House was smoothing her hair, brushing tears from her cheeks. His lips caressed her face, his tongue tasting the salt of her tears. “I’m sorry.” He moved to sit up, pulled her with him, then lay back on the sofa and coaxed her down with him. The tears turned into quiet weeping, her fingers grasping his shoulders.

“I feel so old,” she whispered. “Women in my family… sometimes fifty years old before menopause even starts. I didn’t get that long. Cheated.”

“Lady, you’re not old,” he murmured into her hair. “Far from it.” _And if things were different, he’d show her,_ he thought. _He couldn’t get that raging hard-on to go away, but she didn’t seem to mind. Oh well, there was always a good cold shower when he got home, or jerking off._ Instead he began kneading her shoulders and spine, whispering soft, soothing words to her as her teariness ceased and her breathing began evening out. _Just a short snooze,_ he told himself firmly, making sure his bad leg was comfortable before he drifted off to sleep.


	7. Weekend Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credit:  
> "Never Going Back Again" – 1977 Lindsey Buckingham, Fleetwood Mac  
> "Let Me Touch You For Awhile" as sung by Alison Krauss and Union Station, 2001

“_She broke down and let me in  
Made me see where I've been  
Been down one time  
Been down two times  
I'm never going back again.”_

* * *

Sabrina blinked her eyes open to find herself stretched out on the sofa and daylight shining in her eyes. _She’d slept the evening and night all the way through?_ she wondered as she stretched, then winced. Tucked all around her were afghans from the room, pillows under her head, supporting her legs. Her eyes fell on the coffee table and widened a little as she picked up the origami rose lying there. _Dammit, she didn’t want to start crying again,_ she told herself firmly as she traced the outline of the carefully constructed blossom.

“You awake, hon?”

Elaine walked over to the coffee table and set down the tray laden with her breakfast on it. “Thought you’d be hungry,” she offered by way of explanation. “Feeling okay?”

“I-I think so.” Sabrina slowly sat up, repositioned the pillows and propped herself against them.

“Good. Greg said if you so much as left the house today he’d personally turn you over his knee. I’m with him.”

“He was still here this morning?”

Elaine nodded. “Said he had to go home and get ready for work.” The housekeeper grew silent then added, “I served him coffee and breakfast in the kitchen. Said he didn’t think he’d be comfortable in the dining room by himself. We talked. Or at least he had me doing all the talking. A good man, Sabrina. A bit rough about the edges, but a good man.”

“A bit rough?” She chuckled when the housekeeper grinned at her. “Greg’s not exactly the most socially graceful person I’ve ever known.”

“Doesn’t matter, does it?”

Sabrina shook her head. “Actions speak a lot louder than words.”

“True. He left this to give to you.”

Greg’s business card, she thought, tracing the outline of it. Dr. Gregory House, MD, Department of Diagnostics. Phone number beneath it, and scribbled below that another number… his home number.

“So I took one of yours, wrote your personal number on it and gave it to him. I didn’t think you’d mind,” Elaine added mischievously.

_Mind?_ “I don’t. Did he look happy to get it?”

“Are you kidding? He had a ‘look at what I scored’ expression on his face.”

“That’s Greg,” she said with a soft laugh. Good. Maybe he’d call her and they’d go out, take in a movie or something that two normal people did. After all those years on the road, normal sounded really good.

* * *

_Another day, another case, another differential diagnosis,_ House thought as he paced before his team. He knew he looked a little more frazzled than he usually did, and the hickey beneath his ear didn’t help. He didn’t care. He felt more alive than he had in five years.

Once having gone over symptoms and possibilities, he sent the team off in different directions and settled behind his desk, Gameboy in hand. Think, play, think, play, his usual method for coming up with answers to puzzles. Turn the symptoms over in his mind, what they’d done, what they could do. Occasionally his mind would drift back to the session of heavy breathing he'd had with Sabrina the previous evening and he'd repress a grin. _Later, lover boy._

“House?”

He glanced up from the game to see Foreman standing in front of his desk, then went back to his game. “I thought I sent you down to the lab to run those tests,” he replied without missing a beat.

“There’s something we need to discuss first.”

“Make it second.” _Damn, Foreman wasn’t moving._ “Okay, you have to get this off of your chest. What, dealing drugs out of the pharmacy with your street buddies?”

“Right.” Foreman bit back his annoyance. “We… noticed something yesterday after your… run-in with Sabrina Wallace. You weren’t in pain.”

“I was still recovering from having a hot babe in my arms.” _Nope, didn’t work._

“So we decided to check into some things. Statistics. They all seemed to point to Pediatrics.” Foreman tossed a very thick file on his desk. “How right after Sabrina Wallace moved to Princeton the survival rate went up along with the success rate of diseases and disorders improving or going away entirely in patients. Oddly enough, the amount of admitted Pediatric patients increases proportionately. Word gets out.”

“And your point being? No, wait, let me guess. Our methodology in getting patients all better improves and there’s something wrong with that. Congratulations, Dr. Foreman. You’ve managed to reverse everything medicine stands for in one statement.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have personal reasons for ignoring this, would you?” Foreman looked at House’s neck pointedly.

“No, I’m ignoring this because it’s coming from you. Now, run off and play like I told you to.”

Foreman stomped out and he let out a sigh of relief as he saved his game, then set the unit on his desk. He looked at the phone, started to reach for it, then stopped himself and turned to his laptop instead. After a couple of well-placed searches, he found what he wanted, leaned back and grinned. Not too far away, thoughtful, and a fun time for all concerned. _He was losing it. _Wilson would never let him hear the end of it._ He was acting like a teenaged kid, full steam ahead without thinking of what…_

Suddenly he froze for a moment, gripping the edge of his desk tightly. _What am I doing? Feeling, you fucking moron. _He closed his eyes tightly, the doctor inside analyzing even as the man inside shook. All those damn walls he'd worked so hard to erect were crumbling and it frightened the holy hell out of him. _Damaged. He was damaged goods, leg, soul, everything. She'd discover the extent and hurt him. Just like Stacy. Or want to fix him like Cameron._

_No._

He forced his eyes to open, aware of the cold sweat that had broken out all over his body. _Damn.. Focus. Don't lose sight of what you can have. _With an abrupt movement, he reached for his bag and pulled out the CD boxed set that he'd purchased on his way in. SwwS – As Time Rolls On – A Collection - 1983 – 2006 was the title, and on the cover was the band dressed in vintage 1890's attire, the photograph in sienna tones. They were standing on a train platform, with a conductor off to one side checking tickets. His fingertips traced her picture, his eyes drinking in the sight of her attired in a period traveling dress, complete with a bustle and parasol. _Deep breaths. She's not Stacy._ He extracted one of the CDs and slid it into his laptop. _She's not Stacy. _Music rose up and he closed his eyes again as Sabrina's breathy soprano filled the room.

_I don't really know you,  
But I'd be willin' to show you,  
I know a way to make you smile  
Let me touch you for awhile._

Focus.

_Just let me whisper things,  
You've never heard before.  
Just let me touch you, baby.  
Just let me touch you for awhile._

Her voice faded out and he sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. He could use a drink right then. _No. Not down that road. Face it sober like a goddamned man. _

Another move found the phone receiver in his hand; his fingers paused over the keys _(drop a set, House, and do it, for chrissakes),_ then he dialed the number he’d committed to memory.

“Yes?” Sabrina’s voice was a balm to his soul. _No more panicking, you motherfucking idiot, _he groused at himself.

“Hey, bluegrass lady.” His voice came out gravelly and he cleared his throat.

“Hey, cranky doctor.”

He couldn’t help but smile then_. Cranky doctor?_ “Guilty, as charged. Good to hear your voice again.”

She was blushing. He knew it from the giggle on the other end. “Why, it’s good to hear your voice again, too. Oh, and Greg?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you called. Now I can stop pacing by my phone.”

A chuckle escaped him. “Glad to know I’m good for something. Have a question for you.”

“Question away.”

Deep breath, then, “What does your weekend agenda look like?”

The silence on the other end made him start to wonder if he’d done the right thing before she finally spoke. “Weekend? Well, let’s see, I’ll have to cancel that appearance in the White House, my audience with the Queen of England…”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

That soft giggle went straight to his heart by way of his crotch. “Why, got something cooked up? It’s Labor Day, you know.”

“Really?” He listened to her giving him the raspberries and laughed. “How does the Delaware Valley Bluegrass Festival down in Woodstown grab you?”

Another silence. A long silence. _Damn, he’d wanted to blow her mind, not her circuits._ Finally, “You mean that? I’ve always wanted to go, I mean, I’ve always been too busy on tour to go, and now…”

“So…”

“YES!”

He held the phone out from his ear as she made some very loud happy noises. “Glad to know my idea is appreciated. Oh, and I’ve never heard of them, but the headliner is The Del McCoury Band.” More happy noises. “This is a good thing.”

“Yes. Sorry. Del and I go back some. It’ll be good to see an old friend again.”

“So, do you want to camp or get a room?” There, couldn’t be any plainer about his intentions.

“Oh, definitely get a room. One room.” His heart did double-time. “One bed. Get my point, cranky doctor?”

“Yeah, I get your point, bluegrass lady.” He could feel himself start to get aroused and forced it down. “Definitely get your point.”

Once they’d ended the call House propped his feet up on his desk and stared at the computer screen. _One room, one bed…_

“Did I hear that conversation right, or are you taking Sabrina to a bluegrass festival for the weekend?”

_Wilson!_ he thought, grumbling out loud. “Fuck, Wilson, next time I call someone I’ll make sure you’re sitting next to me so no one can accuse you of eavesdropping.” He avoided his friend’s gaze as the other man came off the balcony, pulled up a chair and propped his feet up on the same desk.

“Don’t avoid the question.” Wilson’s eyes were twinkling with mischief. “You’re taking Sabrina to a bluegrass festival.”

“So what if I am?”

“With Sabrina that’s a guaranteed panty-peeler. Although,” Wilson looked at the love bite on House’s neck, his grin widening, “Maybe that’s already happened?”

House snorted. “No, _it_ hasn’t happened.”

“Strike out?”

He looked at his buddy witheringly. “Do I look like a man who ‘struck out’ last night?” A pause, then, “So what brings you here, anyway?”

“Well, we have trouble. Your team is getting curious about Brina.”

“Yeah, I just shooed Foreman out of my office.” He indicated the unopened file. “Which one came running to you?”

"Chase.”

“Figures. What did you tell him?”

“That I'd take care of it.”

“And?”

“I'm taking care of it.” Wilson's smile widened.

“By...”

“Doing absolutely nothing.”

“Ah.”

“Cuddy and I have Sabrina’s back. Stacy, on the other hand…”

“Sabrina won’t be doing this much longer anyway,” House stated abruptly. “Hopefully my children will be good little loyal kids and keep their mouths shut.”

“Yeah, we’ve seen _that_ in the past, haven’t we?” Wilson said dryly. “Stacy shouldn't be too much of a problem, though. She does work for Cuddy.”

“Huh.”

“There goes that trust thing. Then again, where she's concerned...”

“No lectures, Wilson.”

“Not going to give you any. Except for one teensy thing.”

Sigh, then, “Shoot.”

“Sabrina's not Stacy.”

_Christ, had Wilson been crawling around in his head earlier?_ “Really? I could have sworn that Stacy disguised herself as Sabrina to try to get back into my life again. It's all the latest rage. Women will do anything to get into my pants.”

“Must be that charming bedside manner.”

“Or at least my charming in bed manner.”


	8. The Strongest Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credit: "Heavy Lifting" as sung by Blake Shelton, 2003

“_Baby when your heart is aching  
Lean on me, my back ain’t breaking  
All I’m saying  
Is that I don’t mind doing  
A little heavy lifting.”_

* * *

House leaned against the door of the large suite he'd reserved and watched as his _(Girlfriend? Lover? Hot date? Woman?) _unpacked her suitcase, hung her fringed blouses in the closet and parked her shoes at the bottom. _Typical female,_ he thought, smirking at the sight. _Only a woman would bring extra frills for a weekend at a large campground._

As it was it took everything he had to not interrupt Sabrina with more interesting diversions than unpacking her suitcase, especially with a king-sized bed a few feet away. Still, he hadn’t brought her here for sex _(no, take that back, that wasn’t the _only_ thing he’d brought her here for)_ so he was determined to be on his best behavior, at least for the moment.

“I can't believe this was the only room you could find,” she commented, pausing to take a look around what had to be the honeymoon suite at their hotel in Wilmington, Delaware. “Especially...” She looked up at the mirrors over the bed and blushed a little.

“Believe it. Every room from here to the Delaware Valley was full because of the festival. It was either this or forty miles to Philadelphia. Besides, we've got a fancy bed, Jacuzzi, all the amenities.” He waggled his brows at her but continued to stay where he was at. It was safer that way. She merely grinned and blew a kiss at him before returning to her unpacking.

Sabrina paused in front of the dresser mirror to give herself on last once-over, acutely aware of Greg’s eyes on her. _Jump him!_ her mind screamed. _Just push him onto the bed and ride him like there’s no tomorrow. Fuck him silly. _She repressed a grin at the thought. _Damn, now she was getting wet. Silly old broad. _She brushed her hair and wound it into a thick ponytail, some of her curls tamed by two large barrettes. Over that went her Chicago Cubs baseball cap, which ran in direct contrast to Greg’s New York Mets cap. One toss of the sunscreen into her tote bag, sunglasses, thin blanket for the ground, yes, plenty of money, and then her fiddle in its case. If someone was jamming in the campgrounds somewhere, she was not about to miss out.

“Anything else?” House said dryly. “All of the pretty towels, the complimentary soap and shampoo?”

“Just you.”

He followed her silently out into the hall and once the door was shut pulled her into his arms then backed her against the door. His mouth slammed down on hers, containing her gasp of surprise. His tongue dove into her mouth, devouring, his hips thrusting against hers. Immediately she sagged, her hands clinging to him. _Could the man kiss or could he kiss?_

“Damn,” she whispered against his lips when he finally lifted his head slightly. “What... was that about?”

“About either doing it here or back in the room,” he said huskily. “And back in the room... we would never have left.”

“And this would be a bad thing?”

House’s eyes shut and she watched him struggle for control. “No, it wouldn't be a bad thing,” he finally muttered. “But, I brought you here to listen to music, spend money, and see an old friend. Not just...” He waved his free hand in the air, his cheeks flushing.

“Why, you romantic,” she said softly, taking delight in the way his blush deepened. “How sweet.”

“Hush, you'll ruin my rep.” Still, he was smiling sheepishly as he escorted her to the elevator.

* * *

 

Watching Sabrina go from booth-to-booth was like watching a bird discovering her wings weren’t clipped. House marveled at the way fellow musicians who recognized her treated her like one of the family, joking, teasing her about the “handsome man” who was escorting her. In turn she’d blush, introduce him, then drag him in to meet everyone. She was showing him he could be social again, and he wasn’t quite sure how to take it. He was by nature anti-social, mistrusting of the human race. _Everybody lies,_ he thought._ If everybody lies then he was lying about everybody lying. Christ, philosophical in the middle of a campground?_ He mentally flipped himself off and told the circular thinking to take a hike for the moment. _Enjoy being by her side and if the cost was being out of his element, so be it._ Odd, that he didn't feel out of his element._ There went that fucking circular thinking again. Maybe a double-bird would chase it off. _

By mid-afternoon they made a decision to wander over to the campground area to find out if campers were engaging in jam sessions. Secretly House’s leg was starting to ache and all the Vicodin in the world hadn’t helped. Instead he grit his teeth and kept going. _Dammit, House, you didn’t think about this, _he grumbled inwardly._ He didn’t want to spoil her fun. Hell, he’d been in far worse pain than this, he’d be in far more again._

Just as they reached the campground edge his cane went down... then down into a rut and he to the ground with it. Screeching pain shot through his thigh and he gasped, tucking over into his right knee.

“Goddammit,” he growled out as she knelt next to him, her eyes wide. “God-fucking-damn son-of-a-bitch.”

“My favorite was always ‘mother-fucking cock-sucking son-of-a-bitch,’” she quipped, getting a glare from him. “Okay, not funny. What do you need?”

“A good right leg,” he muttered, slowly straightening it out with a groan. “Dammit to hell.”

“Well, since that’s not happening any time in the near future, what can I do to help?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.” She stood up and extended her arm to him, causing him to stare at her like she’d lost her mind. “Here’s the way I look at it, hon. You can either keep lying there looking like a turtle on its back,” his glare darkened, “or you can accept a hand up.” When he continued to stare at her she added, “Let me put it another way. What if our roles were reversed? Would you leave me lying on the ground and let me struggle up on my own?”

At that he let out a sigh and closed his eyes for a few moments. _She’s not Stacy,_ he reminded himself firmly. “Okay,” he said out loud, reopening his eyes.

“Good. What can I do?”

“Elbow.”

He linked his arm around her elbow and slowly eased up, using his cane for support. Once upright he draped his arm around her shoulders and let her lead him over to a patch of shade at the edge of the grounds. There she spread the blanket and helped him back down again, then came down next to him. Remaining as detached as he could he ran his fingers over his right thigh, his knees, ankles. _No sprains, just a bit tender. Thank God._

“So, what’s the prognosis, doctor?” Sabrina finally asked as House rolled his pant leg down, looking a little more cheerful. That fall had scared the living daylights out of her, although she’d done her best to not let it show. He seemed none the worse for wear because of it, excepting perhaps bruised pride.

“No sprain. I’ll be fine. And, Sabrina, if you don’t mind, that is... I don’t want to fuck up the day...”

“What?”

“Could we rest for awhile?”

“Of course. I could use a breather myself.” Her fingers came to rest on his right thigh, feeling the muscles that were still intact bunch under her caress. “Greg, I can’t ‘heal’ you, but maybe you need something else.” Slowly she began to massage in circles, avoiding the injured area, getting the tension out of the stressed muscles.

“Uhm.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.” His eyes shut and he was actually smiling. _Good._

After awhile she worked her way down his leg, his calf, then removed his shoes and began working on his foot; over to his left leg _(avoiding one particular location that might find them both embarrassed)_ and down. The sound of his even breathing told her he’d fallen asleep. _Thank God_, she thought, sitting back and letting out a long sigh of relief.

Her eyes fell on the miscreant cane and she picked it up, running the length of it over and over in her hands. _Amazing how a person could become dependent on one strong piece of wood._

Suddenly she rose to her feet, fetched her billfold out of her tote bag and picked up the cane. _Hopefully he’d stay asleep for awhile,_ she thought as she hurried back over to the vendors and one of the displays she’d seen earlier, cane in hand.

* * *

 

House slowly became aware of a light breeze across his face and a warm woman spooned against him. _Uhm. Yup, he’d died and went to heaven._ Music came across the air, the sounds of children playing out on the field intermixed with it. _Heaven?_ He snuggled a little closer to Sabrina and planted a kiss on the side of her neck. _If not, heaven couldn’t be better than this. Wrapped around a soft, warm female, the scent of her shampoo, thighs pressed intimately against his, her behind nestled into his hips._

_I'm a goner._

“Hey, cranky doctor.” She turned to her back and was rewarded with a kiss.

“Hey, bluegrass lady.” He hesitated, then continued, “I hope I wasn’t too cranky earlier. Sorry about...”

Her fingers on his lips stilled him. “Shit happens. You fell. Not the first time, won’t be the last. Life goes on.”

“That ‘turtle on its back’ remark stung.” By the twinkle in his eyes she knew he was ribbing her.

“Well, you did kinda look like one, except cuter.”

Immediately he pinned her to her back, wedging his good thigh between hers. “Yeah, well, a turtle has a hard shell, but I have something a lot harder.”

“What? Your cane?”

He pretended to frown at her, then grinned and pressed his lips to hers before rolling off of her and sitting up in the name of public decency. His eyes fell on his cane, then on the object lying next to it. Another cane? He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. “Sabrina?” he whispered, taking in the highly polished hand-carved cane. Treble clefs and musical notes ran the length of it, with the handle finishing in a curve similar to the cane he currently carried. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Here.” She turned it so he could see the underside of the handle, revealing the lettering she’d had the carver engrave there.

“’G.H. For the strongest man – something to lean on.’” He fell silent, taking in the meaning behind the words. His throat tightened, he took a deep breath and his eyes squeezed shut. Hard.

“Greg, there’s something I want to tell you.” She moved to rest her head on his good thigh and grasped his free hand. “There’s strength and then there’s strength. I don’t know the story behind this yet,” her fingers lightly traced his right thigh, sending a few tingles through it that told him a bit of energy passed through her to him. “But I do know that while this part of you may not be strong, this part is.” Her palm came to rest on his chest, right over his heart. “And that’s what matters the most.”

Suddenly he dropped the cane to the ground and engulfed her to him, burying his face in her hair. _What had he done right that she’d come along?_ He drew in a deep breath and continued to hold her to him, his body shaking with what his mind was starting to realize and his heart already knew.

He was in love.


	9. Girl Talk and Boo-Boos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credit:  
> "When You Say Nothing At All" as sung by Alison Krauss and Union Station, 1994

“_The smile on your face lets me know that you need me  
There's a truth in your eyes sayin’ you'll never leave me  
The touch of your hand says you’ll catch me if ever I fall  
You say it best when you say nothing at all”_

* * *

_He was in love._ A million thoughts raced through House as he continued to hold Sabrina tight against him. _How had he let this happen? What was he going to do? What were they going to do? Did she love him in return? What if she didn’t?_

“Greg?”

In response to her puzzled query he pressed his lips firmly to her forehead and gentled his embrace. “Sorry. I just got all mushy and I’m not used to it.” The break in his voice told otherwise and he could tell by the way she lifted her head to gaze searchingly into his eyes that she didn’t believe him. Still, to his relief she didn’t question him and instead pressed her lips against his before moving to stand up.

“Well, I’m glad to see you love my little gift so much,” she said teasingly. “Come on, Doctor. Let’s see if it fits.”

Which it did. He took a few test steps out, then turned to face her, causing her heart to swell at the sight. Black tee-shirt outlining his biceps, jeans leading down long legs to Nike Shox, baseball cap, the five o’clock shadow that never went away, and those eyes, as vivid blue as the sky above him, he stood in the field, leaning on his cane and smiling at her. Behind him children were running and screaming, and he didn’t seem to mind at all. _In fact,_ she marveled, _he looked as though he didn’t have a care in the world._ _Getting a nice farmer’s tan, too,_ she thought with amusement.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he teased, causing her to stick her tongue out at him.

“Okay, smart-ass, just for that…” She bent to her tote bag and pulled out her digital camera. “No, dammit,” she muttered when he lifted his middle finger just as she pressed the button. “Just like before… Greg, behave. Please. Thank you. Just like a little kid,” she added as she lowered the camera.

“Yeah.” He looked all-too pleased with himself. “So, how did you get this at the right length?” He limped back over to the blanket and lowered himself to the ground again.

“I snuck away with your other cane and had the vendor trim the end off to match.”

“Sneaky.”

“Yup.”

Suddenly a child’s screams filled the air and they both whirled to see a little girl about three years old sit down and start crying. Another girl, perhaps twelve, Sabrina noted, bent to pick her up in her arms and looked around helplessly. She felt House tense next to her in anticipation as the doctor in him geared up.

“Over here!” she called out, beckoning the children to her. _Kids were so trusting_, she thought with a shake of her head as the girl hurried over and lowered the younger one to the blanket. Immediately Sabrina winced at the sight of the nail sticking out of the bottom of the girl’s foot.

“It’s okay, honey,” she said softly, smoothing the little girl’s forehead. “This nice man is Dr. Greg.” She heard House rummaging around in his bag and was relieved to see him pull out a small plier-like instrument. “Greg, once you get the nail out…” She took a slow even breath, then bent to kiss the girl’s forehead. “Easy, sweetheart. This will hurt but then it will be all better.”

“Tetanus shot,” House began, then stopped when she shook her head.

“Won’t need one.”

“No, wait, let me.” The older girl brushed Sabrina’s fingers aside. “Sissy, it’s okay. Stop crying. Dr. Greg, can you get the nail out?”

“Yup.”

“Honey, I can…” Suddenly Sabrina paused to gaze into the girl’s eyes. “Greg, pull the nail,” she said quietly.

As the nail slid out the older girl covered the wound with her fingers, bent over, blew on them, then removed her hand. Aside from a few drops of blood the injury had vanished.

“Now, Sissy, what do you always say when I fix your boo-boos?” the girl asked her sister.

“Jesus loves me.”

“That's a good girl! Go and play now.” As the toddler scampered out to the field the older girl shot the couple a nervous look. “I, um, hope you don't tell anyone. Um.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sabrina noticed a small bruise on the girl's calf and caressed it with her fingertips. “May God go with you.” House swallowed down the knot in his throat when she lifted her hand to reveal that the bruise had disappeared. The power she possessed was humbling, he realized, giving her a light squeeze around the shoulders.

“You too? Oh wow!” The preteen broke into a huge smile. “I always thought that...”

“I was the only one,” they finished in unison, laughing and hugging.

“What's your name, hon?”

“Sebrina with an 'e.' My parents named me after you,” the girl added slyly.

Sabrina pretended to pout, saying, “Is nothing sacred around here?” before letting go with a bigger smile. “When did it start for you?”

“A year ago, when I,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “started my monthlies.”

“Same thing happened to me too. Girls rock, don't we?”

“We sure do. Listen, I gotta go watch my sister, Sabrina. It was great meeting you!”

With that the younger Sebrina hurried off after her sister, leaving the two adults staring after her. After a moment Sabrina stirred, wiping quickly at her eyes. “Here I was worried, wondering...”

“They'll be fine. They'll all be fine.” Then, because he couldn't find anything else to say, he bent his head to hers for a long, heartfelt kiss that he hoped conveyed what he was feeling inside. _As soon as he sorted this out, _he vowed silently,_ he was going to do more_ _than just show her how he felt._

_   
_

* * *

_  
_

They wove their way through the lawn chairs and people up to the stage, with Sabrina hoping to see her friend Del McCoury before the concert started. _If they hadn't been so busy sleeping under a tree they could have sat close, _she thought with an inward sigh. Still, it had been worth it to see House relaxed again, leaning on the cane she'd given him.

“Mom!”

Suddenly Sabrina was engulfed by a large pair of arms and a broad chest. “Mike!” she exclaimed, tipping her head back to look up at her son, mischief shining in his eyes. “What brings you here? I thought you and your friend were going out of town...” She stopped, then grinned at him. “But this is out of town.”

“Yup. Come to hear kick-ass music, drink good booze, score hot chicks.”

“Sounds like my kind of night,” House said easily, extending his hand to the younger man. “Greg House.” The boy was about his height, at least seventy pounds heavier, short dark hair, goatee, and large brown eyes that were presently regarding him with curiosity.

“Michael Wallace,” he finally said, accepting House's hand. “Call me Mike. And you are...”

“A friend of your mother's.”

“Yeah, and bears don't go in the woods, either.” _Damn, the kid looked just like his mom when he lifted one brow that way._

“More than friends, then.”

“Figured as much. Here.” Mike indicated the two lawn chairs he'd been saving. “You two sit here. Bud and I will sit on the ground in front of you.”

“What will Bud think?” Sabrina asked him as they sat down. House draped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her head against his shoulder. “Better?” she added softly to him.

He drank in her scent and nodded. “Uhm hm.”

“Bud will get over it,” Mike interjected, grinning at them. “Besides, this way he gets to meet my famous mom and hear kick-ass music, front row.”

“No booze. It’s not allowed in the park and you're underaged.”

“That leaves hot chicks, then.”

Sabrina snorted, then reached down to ruffle his hair. She was aware of House's amusement, his long, lean body against her side, the faint scent of his cologne, perspiration, and that underlying aura of maleness. Her hand came to rest on his knee and his grip tightened briefly, his lips brushing over her ear.

“I want you to know that I've really enjoyed myself today,” she murmured. “You're... you're a good time, Greg House.”

“I've had a good time, too,” he admitted. “Although if Wilson could see me sitting here, hay at my feet, cowboy hats everywhere, helping little girls with boo-boos, he'd say I'm going soft.”

“Something tells me that the last thing you are is soft.” Her sultry gaze met his and he forced down the throb that started to form in his crotch.

“Care to find out later, bluegrass lady?” he said huskily in her ear. In return she traced her fingertip along his knee and thigh, making him shift more her direction. “Or now?”

“Uhm, now would be nice, but I prefer more privacy, don't you, cranky doctor?”

“Yeah.” He dropped a kiss on the corner of her mouth, then blinked as a blond whirlwind stood in front of them, looked down at Mike, shrugged and sat on the ground in front of House.

“You’re Bud, right?” Sabrina asked as the boy pushed a length of that wheat-blond hair back from his eyes.

“That’s me. Lemme guess, you’re his mom and we’re now sitting on the ground.” Bud shook her hand, then House’s.

“Hey, we’re young. They’re old,” Mike retorted.

Sabrina chuckled as House pretended to bend over his cane and totter. “That’s right, sonny,” he whined out in a shaky voice. “Just old and falling apart.”

“Not quite, I hope,” Sabrina whispered in his ear, causing House to burst out in laughter and pull him to her for a long heated embrace that left the boys coughing and nudging each other. Just then the lights went down and the couple shared another quick kiss before turning to the stage.


	10. Music and Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credit:
> 
> "If I Give You My Heart" as sung by Alison Krauss, 1987

* * *

“_Take me in your arms  
Let the love you seek  
Wash away your sorrow,  
Let the morning be ours to keep.”_

* * *

Chapter Ten – Music and Moonlight

Sabrina leaned forward as each band member came out and the music rose, all banjo and fiddle and guitar and bass fiddle and ukulele, much like Whistle Stop. Del McCoury had been in the business since before she was born, with his two sons joining him in recent years. His form of bluegrass was more roots-based than hers and had a cult following. Of course, she loved it.

At one point he looked down, caught sight of her and Mike and grinned ear-to-ear, winking at her. She laughed and waved back while Mike raised his fist in recognition. When the audience began to rise and dance she joined them, giving House a squeeze that indicated he didn’t have to try, and getting a reassuring one that told her he didn’t intend to.

Mike swept her to the space in front of the stage and began two-stepping with her. _Thank God her ex had been good for something, and that was teaching the boy how to dance. _More laughter came from her; it had been so long. Saucily she broke free and began to jig alongside him, her gaze landing House. To her delight he was leaning back in the lawn chair and grinning at her, nodding in encouragement at the girlish silliness that had overcome her.

When the song ended she staggered over to him and bent over to press her lips against his, feeling his smile beneath her mouth. “Enjoyed watching a silly old lady cut loose, huh?” A little squeak came from her when he pulled her down to his lap, making sure she was sitting on his good thigh. “Okay, I guess you did,” she added breathlessly, noting he was semi-hard beneath his jeans.

“Uh, huh.” His stubble raked over the side of her neck when he kissed her there.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have us a bon-a-fide celebrity who thought she could just get away with sneaking in here and not being recognized.” Sabrina swung her head up just as Del added, “Sabrina Wallace, grab that fiddle of yours and get on up here. Bring that boy of yours along.”

The applause and cheers were deafening, imploring. Mike extended his hand to her, a big saucy grin on his face. Helplessly she turned House, suddenly nervous. “I don’t want to abandon you,” she said in his ear.

His grip tightened on her as he replied, “Go on up and have fun. Besides, we took my car. You can’t abandon me.” The nudge he gave her indicated he was messing with her and she giggled, giving him a thorough kiss before she grabbed her fiddle case and let Mike assist her up onto the stage.

Del gave her a hug, then Mike. “I’ve known this young lady so long that I’ve forgotten how long I’ve known her,” he said into the mike, getting titters from the audience. Flashbulbs were going off everywhere; the more savvy fans were turning off the flash and worming their way closer to the stage for better pictures.

“Old age has a way of doing that to you,” she snarked, getting a shake of the finger from him while the titters turned into laughter.

“Just for that, you get to pick the song. Somebody hand that boy a guitar.”

The crowd and band waited patiently while she tuned her fiddle and Mike tuned the Fender acoustic pressed into his hands. Once satisfied they nodded at each other then looked expectantly at Del.

“One song and only one,” Sabrina said sweetly to the older man, getting a grin from him. “Let’s give ‘em some foot-stomping hillbilly music. Y’all know ‘Foggy Mountain Breakdown,’ right?”

They broke into the bluegrass classic, each member taking their turn in solos. Sabrina fiddled to the crowd, letting the waves of adoration wash through her soul into the energy she’d long gotten used to by then. Something was different that time; instead of a sharp need to reach back out it settled into a warm glow. Realization hit her as her eyes landed on House and she gasped aloud at the way his eyes were penetrating hers, wide as though he’d been struck with the same knowledge she had.

Arms extended, playing forgotten, she danced along, fiddle in one hand, bow in the other. The music lifted her along, clapping and cheering all around her, pulsing its way deep down inside of her. _They'll be fine. They'll all be fine. Time to move on and embrace what lies ahead. The man before you is waiting, Sabrina. Take hold and never let go._

The silence, then resulting applause made her realize that the song had ended and she was standing, head bowed. Mike’s hand came to rest on her shoulder and she nodded up at him. “It’s over, Mike,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” He gave his mom a kiss on the cheek.

“And this is a good thing,” she added just as Del approached her from the other side and gave her a hug. She couldn’t keep her eyes off House, her man who was looking at her with pride and longing all rolled into one. Waving as she went Sabrina dismounted the stage, pausing to sign the occasional autograph before coming to stand in front of House again.

In one move he had her sitting on his good thigh, tucking her head against his. She could feel the beat of his heart against the palm of her hand, his breath across her temple. Around them the music rose into a steady rhythm of joyful noise, the ground vibrating beneath their feet as people danced and sang. Nothing mattered except being in each other’s arms.

* * *

 

Moonlight radiated across the field as they strolled, light twinkling from nearby campfires. Mike and Bud had already carried her tote bag and purchases back to the Corvette for them, Mike returning with a “someday I wanna drive that bitch” look on his face as he handed House back the keys along with House’s leather jacket and her windbreaker. Then they were on their way into the campground, leaving the couple alone.

It seemed to Sabrina that the stars were dancing in rhythm to the sound of the people jamming in the night. House’s left arm was warm around her shoulders, his right using the cane she’d bought him as he limped leisurely along. Amazing how she’d fallen into his odd gait, as though she was already a part of him. The warm energy had not abated; if anything it had strengthened, building with every step she took with him.

“You were beautiful up there tonight,” he finally said, nuzzling her hair. “The way you played to the audience, the smile on your face. You’re a natural.”

“Thank you, Greg. I don’t usually... get quite that carried away. I haven’t danced on stage in a long time.”

“Urge just overcame you, huh?” She could tell he was trying to remain nonchalant. _More than an “urge” and they both knew it._

“Something like that.”

“Right.”

Suddenly he stopped and turned her in his arms. “And if you think I’m buying that you’ve got some swampland in Louisiana to sell me while you’re at it.” His mouth slammed down on hers, containing her gasp, then a moan as his tongue flicked over her lips, seeking entry. She allowed it and he groaned, steering her back under a tree and backing her up against it. His hands slid up and down her spine; hers found his tee shirt front, palms flattened across his pectorals, moving in slow, circular motions. The familiar tingling went through her, not in a rush, but in a lazy swirl of emotions that caused her to let out a soft sigh, her hands tangling in his curls as he began leaving soft biting kisses across her neck and throat.

“I want you, dammit,” he growled against her ear, his hand pulling her hip squarely up against his pelvis. His erection pressed into her belly and she moaned, undulating against him. “All of you. Your heart, mind, soul. I want to feel your bare skin against mine, your hands and mouth on me, taste you and feel you everywhere. I want to feel your legs around my waist while I get into you so damned deep I’ll never find my way out. And when you scream out my name, I want to know that I’m the reason.”

“Greg...”

His mouth claimed hers again, his tongue probing the inside of her mouth, taking what was his. Those long fingers moved along her side, then up across her breasts and she let out a long moan of relief, one hand sliding down to below his belt, tracing his hard outline. The groan reverberating in her mouth encouraged her to stroke lightly, enjoying the feel of him thrusting back.

“You feel so goddamned alive,” he muttered against her lips. “Like you’re becoming a part of me... “ He shut his eyes for a moment, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m a doctor, Sabrina.” His voice came out in a strained whisper. “I don’t believe in these... things I’ve seen you do, and yet I’ve seen them. I don’t believe in ‘soul mates’ and yet here you are. I... don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Believe in what you see and what you know in your heart.”

They were off again, tongues intertwining, hands touching, caressing, fabric moved aside for the brush of fingers. He wedged his good thigh between hers, his need hard, evident against the crest of her thighs. The faint “thud” of his cane hitting the ground reached their ears and they ignored it. Instead, House turned to lean back against the tree for support, not missing one expert caress.

Finally he lifted his head and tipped it back, drawing in one shuddering breath after another as he held her head against his shoulder. “We... can’t... here,” he choked out. “Might get caught.”

“Murphy’s Law being what it is, it would be my son that would catch us.”

His shoulders started to shake with silent laughter. “Yeah, and he’s bigger than I am.”

“Chicken.”

“Bawk bawk.”

He gently set her back and bent for his cane, groaning when she ran her fingers along his behind. “Quit that,” he chided. “At least until we get some privacy, then you can feel my ass all you want.”

“Promises, promises,” was her reply as she accepted his left elbow for the stroll back to the car.


	11. The Joining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credit:
> 
> "Take Me For Longing" as sung by Alison Krauss and Union Station, 2001

_"Don't choose me because I am faithful_   
_Don't choose me because I am kind  
If your heart settles on me  
I'm for the taking  
Take me for longing or leave me behind”_

* * *

Chapter Eleven – The Joining

By the time they arrived at their room House's leg was starting to throb even worse than his crotch. _A warm shower and a dose of Vicodin would do the trick,_ he decided as he sat heavily on the edge of the bed and sighed. To his surprise Sabrina knelt at his feet and began untying his shoes, then removed his socks, taking her time to massage each foot.

“You don't have to do this,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I'm may be a cripple, but I can...”

“You're not a cripple,” she interjected. “You may have a bad leg, but you are not,” she laid her hand boldly across his crotch and he groaned, “a cripple. Get my point?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Now, what do you need to be more comfortable?”

“Your hand off of my dick.”

“Party pooper.” She heard him chuckle when she removed her hand and added, “What else? Warm shower?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah. Along with one of these.” He pulled the pill bottle out of his pocket and popped it open to extract one. He dry-swallowed it, then stood up.

“Okay, you get all showered and relaxed, then I’ll take my turn. Unless you want to share,” she added slyly.

“Not this time. I want to enjoy unwrapping you one article of clothing at a time.” _And he was in no hurry for her to see his leg, either,_ he admitted to himself. She merely grinned at him and nodded, then pointed him in the direction of the bathroom.

“Go. Before I change my mind and jump you as is.”

House stood out on the balcony, wearing a tee shirt and sweatpants, barefoot. He leaned against the rail as he contemplated the day and what lay ahead. Inside his nerves were jangling like a teenaged boy getting ready for his first score. _If only it was that easy,_ he thought ruefully. _A randy kid would just plunge ahead and the hell with the consequences. He, on the other hand, knew once he joined with her physically there would be no turning back. Whatever she’d pulled into herself at that last performance was going to find release, one way or another._ He shivered at the thought, both aroused and nervous.

“Greg? Oh, there you are.” He heard her footsteps pad out onto the balcony. “For a moment I thought you had done runned off.” The last was a gentle mimic of the hill accents they’d heard all day and he grinned.

“Nah. Just thinking.” She came up next to him and he wound an arm around her shoulders.

“Remember what I told you the first time we met.” At his puzzled silence she added, “Not enough blood in the male body to supply both heads at the same time.”

“So you’re saying I should stop thinking?” He turned to face her, his breath catching at the sight of her damp hair spilling around her face in waves, the soft silky robe just barely covering her behind, leaving his mind to idly wonder what lay beneath it. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, then slid down her arms slowly, fingertips trailing along the sides of her breasts. A shiver came from her; she arched against him and he smiled.

“Niiiice,” he muttered, pulling her up against him. One hand slid to her behind and molded her more firmly against his pelvis. Her eyes widened and she rocked against him side-to-side, her hands coming to rest on his chest. “What?” he asked teasingly, thrusting up against her abdomen.

“Uhm, sweatpants don’t hold anything back, do they?” she said breathlessly, sliding her hands up and down, then in circles, her fingernails raking across his nipples through the thin tee shirt. A low growl escaped him and his free hand sank into her hair as he brought his mouth down on hers. The kiss was hot, greedy, tongues dueling feverishly, heads rotating harder, frantic. A warm glow enveloped them; he let himself sink into it, his body reacting along with his heart.

Slowly she backed through the patio door, letting him lean on her for support as they finally came up for air long enough to make it into the bedroom. _She’d already folded back the covers,_ House noted with amusement as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her up against him and between his thighs, making sure to cradle her against his good leg.

His fumbling fingers finally found the tie on her robe and gave it a tug. “Oh, God,” he groaned out as she stepped back and let the garment slide off her body to the floor. The little sheer black baby doll gown she was wearing outlined every curve and left very little to the imagination. Delicate hand-made lace swirled down to cover her breasts, with the duskiness of her nipples just showing through. His mouth went dry and he licked his lips involuntarily.

“Greg?”

He swung his dazed eyes up to look into hers. “Yeah?”

“Do I look okay?”

He said the first words that came to mind. “Me likey.” _Oh, now that’s smooth._ Her soft giggle broke the tension, causing him to shake his head and smile. “I’m nervous,” he admitted quietly, “but I’d guess that’s no news to you.”

“Yeah, me too. I mean, I’m a walking roadmap,” she replied quietly. “Four surgeries. Not a pretty sight.”

“Believe me, I’m the last person who’d be concerned about a scar here and there.” House slid his hands up her arms, noting the gooseflesh that arose, the way her nipples hardened through the lace. _Good._ Then behind her neck, where he found the tie to the halter that covered her breasts. One light tug found it free and it fell to the tie between her breasts. _Dear God, he was going to die of a heart attack just looking at her, _he thought, taking in the creamy expanse of skin, the way her rose-hued nipples just begged to be touched. _Never keep a lady waiting,_ he thought wryly, his mouth coming down on hers again as one hand slid up to cup one soft breast.

“Greg, oh, that’s nice,” she breathed as his lips left hers to roam down her neck, taking hot, biting kisses, marking, licking her delicate skin. A moan escaped her when he laved his tongue over one nipple, her fingers threading into his hair. Then he did the other nipple the same favor, noting each reaction, what made her moan, what made her cry out softly and clench into his hair a little tighter. He caught the tender peak in his teeth and began sucking, enjoying the way her hips thrust, her hands moving down to catch at his tee shirt.

“Off. Please.” _Single syllables. Good._ He released her long enough to drag the tee shirt up and off, casting it aside to the floor. “Better.” _Her hands_, he thought with a shudder as she began tracing the muscles along his shoulders, then down his chest. When her nails found his flat nipples the shudder turned into a groan, his teeth nipping at her delicate flesh.

A tug of the bow between her breasts and a flick of his wrist found the gown tossed aside, leaving her attired in sheer panties with side ties. Then he pulled her up against him and they began rubbing against each other, hands everywhere. Her mouth found his neck, that tiny tongue laving over his pulse point, while she trailed one hand down to the drawstring on his sweatpants. One finger slipped inside to trace along his hardened length; he let out a long groan, taking a deep breath as he tried to regain focus. _Perhaps by distracting her,_ he decided, his mouth capturing hers again.

When his fingers slipped down the front of her panties she grew still, then sagged against him. “Greg, that's good... yes...” Her voice caught when he found her wet, slick as he probed. “I-I can't stand.” His free hand untied her panties and they landed near her gown. “I…can’t… stand…” Her knees buckled when he slid two fingers into her.

“Then lie down,” he said roughly. She nodded shakily and sank onto the bed, then scooted up to the headboard and gazed at him invitingly. _Moment of truth_, he thought as he rose to his feet, forcing himself to hold eye contact with her as he undid the drawstring on his sweats and let them fall to the floor, leaving him in boxer shorts. When he reached for the waistband of his shorts something froze inside and he shut his eyes. _Damn, couldn’t she see how difficult this was for him?_

He heard the soft sounds of fabric rustling, felt the movement of the bed, then the softness of her skin as she sat on the edge of the bed, thighs spread around him. “Greg?” she said softly, running her hands up and down his biceps, across his chest, toying with the dusting of hair between his nipples. One fingernail teased lightly down the furrow of hair, then caught in the waistband. “Allow me,” she murmured, her voice throaty with arousal. He nodded abruptly, feeling the softness of her hands as they slowly slid his shorts down until they fell to the floor.

“Oh, that’s very nice,” she breathed as his erection sprang forth. He startled when the coolness of her hand came in contact with his right thigh, now exposed. Slowly she traced her fingers along the scar, pausing to explore every deviation. Finally she pressed soft kisses along the length of it, causing his throat to tighten, his hands to thread into her hair. She then wrapped her arms around his hips and hung onto him tightly, her head resting against his pelvis, his erection nestling against her hair.

“Don't you understand, Greg?” Her voice was low with emotion. “I love you. And when I say that, I don't mean parts are omitted. I love all of you.”

_What? _He stared down at her, watching as she gave him a slow smile and eased back onto the bed. _She loved him. _His thoughts started racing as he climbed in next to her, lay on his left side and coaxed her up next to him. She wound her body around him, burying her face into his neck. She was all soft curves and breasts and womanly thighs enveloping him. The scent of her arousal was intoxicating, her slick wetness cradling him as he thrust along her.

“Please, hold me, Greg, please...”

"Sabrina. Love me... I..." His voice trailed off. _Damn, why did three little words come so hard for him?_

Her eyes widened, as if she recognized what it was he was trying to say. She broke into a smile and pulled him down to her. “I do, Greg,” was her reply just before his mouth covered hers.

After that it was all caresses and kisses, her tongue finding his nipples, hand stroking his cock while he ran his hands all over her, calluses over smooth skin, stubble abrading, teeth marking her. By the time he was poised to enter her they were both frantic to join, his fingers fumbling with the condom, him swearing, her giggling.

“Not fucking funny,” he growled out, holding her left thigh firmly over his right hip. Sabrina merely smirked and titled her hips, then shifted down to where his sheathed member was nearly inside of her.

“Now,” she whispered, gasping when he thrust forward._ God, she was tight. _He felt her walls stretch, quiver, her body trembling, hands burrowing themselves into his back. “God, Greg, you're so... oh God...”

Suddenly their eyes shut and the familiar warmth filled and twined around him. He felt the smoothness of her cheek against his roughness, her breath on his skin; _his senses were acute, and he was aware of the light sliding through their souls, melding them together. He filled her, again... again... harder, taking her into him at the same time._

_I love you. Her mental giggle was even more beautiful than her physical one. He joined her in laughter, open with merriment, relaxed, as they tumbled together... this time they were both light, and both warmth, music and love. Their first climax was sweet, gentle, followed by another that left them both straining, pleading..._

His own moans were the first sounds to return, followed by hers. Then the feel of her body, hips thrusting against his, parrying each move with one of her own; he seized her hips and rolled to his back, using his good leg as leverage. As his vision cleared he took in the wild tumble of her hair, the tears streaking down her cheeks to match his.

“Greg... I'm... coming... ” Suddenly she arched back and screamed as he bucked beneath her, a harsh groan torn from his chest as he finally, completely lost himself in the warmth of her body and soul.


	12. The Eyes Of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credit:
> 
> "Looking In The Eyes Of Love" as sung by Alison Krauss and Union Station, 1997

* * *

“_I swear by all of heaven's stars above  
Now that I've found you  
I'm looking in the eyes of love”_

* * *

_Uhmm._ Sabrina nuzzled the sweat-soaked chest hair beneath her cheek, then sighed with contentment. _Every joint in her body would probably hurt in the morning. She didn’t care. She felt his amusement, then an image of the two of them in the Jacuzzi, his hands playing over her… _

“This,” House finally rasped in the darkness; he cleared his throat and tried again, “this is going to take getting used to. In a good way.”

“Yeah.”

He chuckled and stretched lazily like a long, lean cat. “So, what do we call this ‘bond’ we have going on?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” she admitted. “Reminds me of something in an old Star Trek show about Vulcans choosing their mates,” she continued, giving him the Vulcan salute with a grin.

“It was,” he pondered for a moment, “’Never and always touching and touched.’ Something like that.”

“I like that. Can you live with this, Greg?”

“I don’t think I can live without it. Or,” he voice suddenly went soft and serious, “without you. I,” he hesitated for a moment, “want to know something.”

“What?”

“That was the last of what you had, wasn’t it.” Not a question, but a statement.

“Yeah, it was.”

“Why did you… why did you do that?”

“I didn’t. It just happened.”

“God’s will, huh?” _No sarcasm,_ she noted, _just puzzlement._ Idly she toyed with his chest hair, enjoying the soft, downy feel. He wasn’t overly hairy, just had a lovely little patch of dark brown hair sprinkled with gray that spread from nipple-to-nipple, furrowing down to more pleasurable locations. _If she wasn’t so thoroughly exhausted she’d crawl down that body of his for more thorough exploration._

“Lech.”

She snorted, then pressed her mouth to the center of his chest before snagging the sheet and pulling it over them. “I’m going to cover up that sexy bod of yours before my lustful thoughts take over my common sense.”

“Now who’s the party pooper?” was his amused reply as they settled down to sleep.

* * *

“Uhm, knee surgery.”

“Wrong.”

“Come on, Greg, I’m not a doctor.” Sigh. “Okay, I give.”

“Cyst removed from my knee when I was on the high school football team.”

“You said it wasn’t knee surgery.”

“It wasn’t. Just a cyst removal.”

Snort. “You cheated.”

“I play to win. My turn.”

“Mmmm…”

“Biopsy and lumpectomy.” Silence, then, “Benign, I would assume.”

“You assume correct. Okay, add fifteen minutes to your massage.” Pause, then, “I honestly have no idea other than it looks like you’re missing some muscle.”

Long silence.

“Geez, touchy about a scar and a lumpy thigh, aren’t we?”

“It’s more than that.”

“Duh. Cough it up, House. This contest was your idea.”

“Okay, Wallace.”

“I love it when you pout.”

Sigh. “I had an aneurysm in my thigh that went undiagnosed for four days, which lead to infarction. They… removed the dead muscle tissue and now you see this lovely specimen of man before you.”

_Betrayal._

“Uhmmm… add fifteen more minutes. Your turn still.”

“Uh… damn, I can’t concentrate when you do that. Gall bladder surgery.”

“Keep concentrating. You’re right, by the way.”

“I’ll show you concentration.”

“Uhmmm Mmmm… you’re getting sidetracked.”

“Nope. The hysterectomy you told me about, plus that little horizontal scar below it has c-section written all over it. Don’t stop what you’re doing.”

“Greg…”

“That’s my name, all right. Let’s see, my specialty didn’t include reproduction, but I know arousal when I … taste it… did I say you could stop sucking me? Didn’t think so.”

“Please…”

A chuckle. “Niiiice. Me definitely likey.” Another pause, then, “I’ll collect on the massage later, after we finish doing… oh, Christ, that’s good…”

After which remained the sounds of moans and whispers of love as they brought each other to fulfillment.

* * *

Sunday they skipped the rest of the festival. There would be other festivals, more concerts, and always music for them. However, for that moment they chose to be alone together. They made love and sloshed around in the Jacuzzi until Greg swore she’d drown him; ordered up room service so he could watch a baseball game without missing an inning. In turn he suffered through her favorite law drama that night, made sarcastic remarks about the detective’s twitches (“Ooo, your TV boyfriend has a tic, now THAT’S hot stuff”) and the way the man sniffed dead bodies (“What, doesn’t he get any LIVE bodies to sniff?”) that almost, but not quite, got him kicked out to the sofa for his pains.

They loved each other.

Sabrina was contemplating all of that during the ride back to Princeton Monday morning. One week ago she’d been alone in the world, and now she was with Greg. He was even lonelier than she, bitter, cut off from the world, with exactly two friends to call his own -Wilson and Cameron.

There he was, one arm draped around her shoulders between shifting gears, wearing sunglasses and his favorite Led Zeppelin tee shirt over faded jeans, hair blowing back due to the top of the ‘Vette being down. They’d started with The Who, then Johnny Cash; then The Beatles and finally he insisted on hearing her music. Much to her embarrassment, he indicated a CD holder in the back seat where she found her entire catalog neatly tucked away.

“Sing!” he commanded and so she loaded his CD changer and obeyed him. _One last idyllic moment before arriving home,_ she thought, pressing her lips against his bristly cheek. Her fingers played over the changer remote until she found what she was looking for. He wanted her to sing, fine. She would sing a song she was feeling that moment.

“I wonder should I tell you  
bout all the crazy things I've ever done  
I've been searching all my life  
And when I should have stayed  
I tried to run”

“I was searching for an answer  
In a world full of strangers  
But what I found was never real enough  
Now that I've found you  
I'm looking in the eyes of love”

“Oh, Christ, you go and pick something mushy,” he snarked once she’d finished, getting a grin from her. “Now I have to pull by the side of the road and cry.”

“Yeah, cranky doctor. Only I saw you swallow hard at least once.”

“Got something stuck in my throat.”

“What, a bug?”

“Moth.”

“Wrong time of day.”

“Pubic hair.”

“Something happen between the room and the car that I don’t know about? I saw that bellhop eyeing your ass.”

“Jealous?”

“Of you or the bellhop?”

House’s chuckle was low, predatory. “Don’t think I won’t get you for that when we get home, bluegrass lady.”

“Just try it, cranky doctor, just try it.” She dropped another kiss on his cheek and relaxed against his shoulder as they rolled into Princeton.


	13. Differential Diagnosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credit:  
> "Forgiveness" as sung by Collective Soul, 1995

“_As my seasons change I’ve now grown to know  
When one’s heart creates, one’s soul doesn’t owe  
So I wash away stains of yesterday  
Then tempt my heart with love’s display”_

* * *

Chapter Thirteen – Differential Diagnosis

Allison Cameron walked into House’s office and almost, but not quite, stopped in her tracks at the sight of House sitting at his desk with Sabrina Wallace in his easy chair and Wilson leaning against the desk, all sharing early morning laughter. She blinked in puzzlement – there was already coffee made, apparently. _That was her job._ Her eyes narrowed at the likely guilty party.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Cameron,” Sabrina said gently. “I craved caffeine and Greg told me you’re the official coffee person around here. He’s not let me forget it, either,” she added ruefully.

“Should have listened to Elaine. She told me you burn boiled water.” House took a sip and grimaced. “Cameron, could you rescue me from this excuse for coffee?”

“Hah. Last time I cook for you.” Sabrina stuck her tongue out at him.

“Thank God.”

Cameron shook her head with disbelief and retreated into the conference room to get the coffee going. House looked the most relaxed she’d ever seen him. Nice tan, hair looked a little sun lightened and_… he was actually smiling._ She had no doubt as to where the source of the change came from. _Damn. How was she going to handle this?_

Sabrina gratefully accepted a fresh cup from Cameron, took a sip and smiled. “Much better, Doctor. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Won’t you please join us?” Sabrina added, wishing the girl would just relax for once. _Okay, she and Greg had history, but not of his doing and it was past. Something else, though. Betrayal. Doing her duty. What she felt was right._ As Allison nervously sat in another chair, Sabrina felt House’s own puzzlement come over her in small waves. Quickly she visualized a jigsaw puzzle with a few pieces to put into place and bounced it back to him, getting amusement in return.

Wilson watched the silent byplay, the flicker of the eyes between the couple and blinked. The air was close to crackling with it, enough to give him goose bumps. Cameron looked as affected, her eyes wide. Whatever had happened between the two over the weekend was a good thing; a bit unnerving to witness but it felt all right.

The rest of the ducklings came in and paused at the sight before them. “Party?” Foreman asked, not making eye contact with Sabrina. _Betrayal._

“Actually, Cuddy is coming down to strip for us,” House quipped, ducking a mock swing from Sabrina. The guys nodded and went into the conference room, beckoning Cameron to go with them. Casting one last nervous look back at the couple she followed her team out of the room, leaving the three staring after them.

“I’m not sure I want to know what’s going on,” Wilson finally said.

The clack of high heels coming down the hall made them turn automatically toward the door to reveal Stacy, Cuddy right behind her. Sabrina started to voice a greeting then froze.

_Betrayal._

_Anger._

_Malpractice._

_Betrayal._

_Jealousy._

_Obsession._

_Exposure._

_Betrayal._

House grabbed his cane and rose to his feet, his expression hard. _I’ll deal with this. _“And to what do we owe the pleasure of your smiling face?” he said with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“House,” Cuddy began, only to get a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Forget it, Cuddy. Sabrina Wallace, meet Stacy Warner, my _ex_. Note I don’t use the term ‘girlfriend’ or any other that would normally go after _ex_. Those titles have to be _earned.” _He paused for a moment to let the words sink in, then said, “Stacy, meet Sabrina, my _girlfriend._”

_Betrayal._

“Stacy, Greg’s forgotten the time we met in Lisa’s office.” Sabrina forced her voice to remain even. “I was out of it at the time, or else I would have…”

The two women extended their hands to shake, made contact...

_Betrayal!Obsession!Anger!Jealousy!Control!Betrayal!Obsession!Hate!Anger!Control_

“It was you.” Sabrina maintained her grip on the other woman’s hand when Stacy would have pulled away. “You… removed his choice, his ability to make a decision…”

“I saved his life.”

“It was his life to decide on.”

“Sounds like Greg couldn’t wait to tell you what a bad person I am,” Stacy muttered, her eyes hard with anger.

“Never said a word,” Greg replied.

_Easy._

_Trust._

Sabrina stepped back, feeling Wilson’s hand on her elbow as he guided her back into her chair. _How dare that woman do that to him_, she thought numbly_. Images tumbled through her mind, of Greg in pain, having himself put into a chemically induced coma; then other images, clouded with guilt, jealousy, anger that he was so stubborn and she would do what was right for him; and then Lisa… her head swung up to gaze at her friend, horrified… but Greg didn’t hold Lisa at fault, so she wouldn’t._

House’s hand on her shoulder brought her out of her trance. He wasn’t leaning over her or on her, just there as he continued to stand defiantly. She smiled wanly and reached up to pat his hand, getting a squeeze in return.

“So, you were just going to let her,” Stacy indicated Sabrina with a jerk of her head, “continue to come and go as she pleased, doing… what… whatever they call it. Even her touching patients, Greg…”

“Wow. Touching patients. What a concept. Remind me to avoid doing that in the future, Wilson.”

“You do anyway.” Wilson sounded as though he was just barely keeping the glee out of his voice.

“True.”

“What if someone sues? What if…”

“Let’s see, someone gets well, so they sue the hospital. My God, Stacy, you’re onto something here.” He didn’t bother keeping the derision out of his voice. He released Sabrina’s shoulder with a final pat and limped forward to a few inches from Stacy. “Okay, _Mrs._ Warner,” he said tightly, “let’s have a look at the situation. Come, everyone. Sabrina, you haven’t seen me at work, have you?” He extended his hand to her.

“I’m not sure this is the place for me. I mean, I’m curious, but…” her voice trailed off at the look in his eyes.

_Love. _

_Trust._

She accepted his hand.

“Good morning, boys and girls.” House shuffled into the conference room, indicating for everyone to follow him. “Cameron’s made fresh coffee so belly up to the bar if you need to.”

“Greg,” Stacy began, looking increasingly uncomfortable by the minute.

“Naughty, naughty. You didn’t raise your hand first. So sorry.” He shoved a chair her direction with his cane. “Have a seat. Everyone comfy?” His expression softened as Wilson held out a chair for his woman. “Thanks, Wilson.” Wilson merely grinned and sat on a nearby counter. Cuddy shot Stacy a look of disgust, glared at Foreman until he stood up and gave her his seat. “Hanging around, boss lady? Give me motivation, for chrissakes. Just one button, just one.”

“And in front of your girlfriend, no less.” Cuddy rolled her eyes at him.

“He’s just getting even with me ‘cause of that bellhop.”

Immediately Sabrina clapped her hand over her mouth as House winked at her. “Don’t mind my _girlfriend._ She’s been picking up my bad habits.” He set his coffee aside and walked over to the whiteboard.

“Differential diagnosis.” He began writing on the board in the upper left hand side.

“Uh, we don’t have a patient,” Chase began, voicing his teammates’ thoughts.

“We have a situation that needs diagnosed. Close enough. My whiteboard, my markers, my choice,” was House’s snide response. “So, children, let’s get started.” He drew two columns with dividers, turned to face everyone and raised a brow expectantly.

“Let’s see. In this column… heading… ah, old bitter crippled cranky doctor. Why? What makes a man bitter?”

“Broken trust.” Cameron’s voice was soft, sad in tone. House nodded approvingly and wrote it beneath the heading.

“What else? Come on, guys. Don’t let Cam have all the fun.”

“Emotional abandonment,” Foreman finally said.

“Loss of control.” Chase’s eyes were narrow in thought.

“Betrayal.” They all swung their heads to stare at Sabrina. “Hey, you brought me in here, deal.”

“Jealousy,” Cuddy spoke up, just barely repressing a grin.

“Score one for the lady with the push-up bra.” House continued to scrawl down one side of the board. “Okay, for the right side.”

_May I? _

_Trust._

“Idealistic Bluegrass Lady. We have her complete history.”

“We do?” Cameron asked.

“We do. At the age of eleven, her brother died of leukemia and she asked God to help her help other kids. The next day she started menstruating and healed a cut on her little sister’s forehead. She also discovered that she was limited to the healing of children and young animals.”

“Hormone related?” Foreman was leaning in his chair, his expression wavering between disbelief and curiosity.

House scribbled that below the heading. “Now, accelerate forward thirty years. What do you suppose could be happening in this woman’s life?”

“She’d be almost too young for menopause, wouldn’t she?”

“Already perimenopausal, in fact. However, she had a complete hysterectomy. What conclusion could you draw from that?”

“That her abilities would fade or go away entirely.” Cameron’s brow was furrowing.

“Very good.” House continued writing. “What might happen as a result of that?”

“She’d either quit or…” Chase began.

“Try harder,” Cameron finished for him. “Maybe work harder at… I’m not sure what you would call it. Rebuilding her abilities?”

“Which could result in?”

“Stress.”

“Exhaustion.”

“Fainting spells.” Foreman looked pointedly at Sabrina.

“Very good.” House stepped back from the whiteboard for a moment and sipped some coffee. “So, here we have two people, total opposites, but with a similar goal, and that is to heal people. What could result from that?”

“They might meet in an environment such as a doctor’s office.” Chase replied.

“Clinic.” House looked at Cuddy witheringly and she smirked.

“Hospital,” Foreman added.

“Pediatrics.” That was Cameron.

"Cameron’s my girl. We’ll stick with the last one. Any disagreement? Good. Now, let’s take this further. Let’s suppose...” His voice trailed off as he paced. “Let’s go back to the fact that she’s reaching the end of what she can do. And she’s met the old bitter cranky doctor.”

“She can’t heal adults.” Cameron was actually warming up to the subject. _His little_ _atheist,_ House thought with amusement.

“And she can barely heal children.” Chase looked thoughtful.

“This is so...” Stacy threw up her hands. “You’re doctors and you’re discussing... I just don’t believe what we’re discussing.”

“Believe it.” Wilson finally spoke up from his corner, wearing a mischievous grin on his face.

“But it doesn’t make sense.”

“Sense. Does everything in life make sense?” Wilson retorted, standing up and discarding his lab coat. He rolled up the shirtsleeve on his left arm and extended it out. “Thirty years ago I fell out of a tree and broke my arm. I’d bet my old family doctor still has records of it. X-ray it and you won’t see a trace. Wanna know why?” He turned to Sabrina and smiled. Should I tell them we grew up in the same neighborhood?”


	14. So Long, So Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credit:  
> "So Long, So Wrong" as sung by Alison Krauss and Union Station, 1997

“_You have tired me with your wanting ways  
You can’t buy yourself to be complete  
I have given up caring anymore  
Once you were big in a world that’s small  
And now you’re all alone”_

* * *

Chapter Fourteen – So Long, So Wrong

Sabrina let herself get lost in the vivid blue of her lover’s eyes as the room exploded around them. Wilson, a well-respected doctor and hospital board member, had just revealed what should have been impossible, and that was the secret both had carried since childhood. The entire room could not have existed for all that the two cared; House’s eyes delving deep into hers, the barest quirk of a smile on his lips.

_Love._

_Trust._

_Always._

“Okay, class, back to your seats. That’s an order,” he added with a thwack of his cane on the nearby counter, causing an obedient silence to come over the room. “To pick up where we left off,” House drew a double arrow pointing at the headers, “what could happen?”

“Well, going on the theory that she’s been building up again and ... whatever it is has no place to go,” Cameron stated quietly, turning to look at Sabrina, “she has to do something with it.”

Dead silence in the room as heads moved from House to Sabrina repeatedly, eyes widening, narrowing, closing in thought. Emotions tumbled through the air until a series of sharp ones rose above the rest, causing Sabrina to shut her eyes in absorption.

_Defeat._

_Sorrow._

_Regret._

“She shares it with him.”

Stacy’s voice was soft and gravely with pain. Slowly she stood up, turned and walked out of the room, avoiding eye contact as everyone stared after her.

_Let me._

House watched as Sabrina jumped to her feet and hurried after his ex. _Gutsy_, he had to admit as he turned his attention back to those sitting before him. He caught a wave of puzzlement.

_Rooftop._

_Suicide?_

_Smoke._

* * *

Probably not a good idea for Greg to talk to her anyway, Sabrina thought ruefully as she hurried out the conference room after Stacy. _The woman was unstable, emotional, but somewhere, deep down inside, she’d loved Greg._ Why can’t I dance for joy? she wondered as she double-timed her steps, glad that she wore sneakers instead of pumps. _Because, you moron, you hate seeing anyone in pain, even if they supposedly deserve it. Fucking wiring that came with your so-called gift. Now you gotta go make everything all better. You’re worse than the perfect heroine in a bad romance novel. _She rolled her eyes, then repressed a grin at the wave of reproach coming from Greg._ Okay, I’ll be easier on myself, but really._

The scent of cigarette smoke reached her as she opened the door to the roof. Cautiously she stepped, not wanting to startle Stacy. _The last thing anyone needed was a dive off the roof._

Sabrina finally found her, sitting up against a wall and staring moodily out at the sky, a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. Slowly she approached the other woman, finally coming close enough to sit down next to Stacy, draw her knees up under her skirt and lean back in silence. Several minutes passed before Stacy finally stirred, stretched and winced.

“I’m getting too fucking old for this shit,” she said softly, extending her pack of cigarettes to Sabrina. “Smoke?”

Sabrina did her best pothead “toke” imitation. “Not unless you have something stronger than tobacco, dude.”

Stacy barked a laugh. “That’s been a long time. College. And you?”

“I refuse to answer, Counselor, on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”

They both laughed softly before going silent again. Stacy tossed aside her cigarette butt and lit another before speaking again.

“Ever married?”

“Once. Divorced several years ago. You?”

“Once. Still together.”

“Good man?”

Stacy shrugged. “As good as they get, I guess.”

“You don’t have to settle for that.”

“No, I don’t. But I am. You see,” Stacy wiped hurriedly at the corners of her eyes, “I have this thing about being alone. And... at one time I didn’t settle for anything less than the best, but I let him get away.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, he really is an abrasive son-of-a-bitch.”

“Rude.”

“Jerk.”

“Opinionated.”

“Jackass.”

“Dickhead.”

“And we love him anyway.”

Snort. “Was there ever a choice? One look at those baby blues and I was a goner.”

“For me I think it was his ass.”

“He dresses to the left noticeably.”

It was Stacy’s turn to snort, causing Sabrina to giggle. “Christ, we’re a couple of dirty old broads,” Stacy said dryly. She stretched again and made a face. “And if I don’t get off this cold concrete they’ll have to cart me out in a wheelchair.”

“Nah, we’ll just steal Greg’s cane and make him leave in the wheelchair.” Sabrina cautiously got to her feet, pausing to dust off her knees and behind before extending her hand to Stacy. “Come on, fellow old lady, before you become a part of the pavement. Won’t help that arthritis in your lower back...” Her voice trailed off as Stacy stared up at her.

“I won’t even ask how you knew that,” Stacy finally said as she grasped Sabrina’s hand and let the other woman help her to her feet. “Oh, good,” she added, bending over to dust off her knees. “No weird vibes this time.”

“Thank God,” Sabrina agreed as she straightened her skirt.

“Telepathic?”

“Empathic. I get emotions, occasional verbal thought, visual, but generally feelings.”

“Hmmm.”

“Stacy?”

They paused at the door. “What?”

“I don’t expect us to be friends.”

“That would be awkward. Fortunately I won’t be around to make things uncomfortable.”

“Leaving?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Sigh. _Here goes Little Miss Fix-It again._ “Probably. But, I do want to say something.”

“What?” Stacy stubbed out her cigarette.

“If you ever do decide you don’t want to ‘settle’ for less than the best, look me up.” When Stacy shot her an odd look Sabrina added, “I know a few good men. Quite a few. Just get your act together first.”

“I’ll think about it,” Stacy finally said as she hurried down the stairs ahead of Sabrina and vanished.

Shaking her head, Sabrina slowly descended the stairs, thinking about the interchange between herself and the troubled attorney. _The last thing she’d expected was a meeting of the minds_, she mused as she got onto the elevator and went to House’s floor. From there she found him alone in his office, sitting in his big chair, playing with his yo-yo and frowning as he looked out onto the patio.

“Didn’t your mother tell you that your face would freeze if you frowned all the time?” she teased softly. Immediately his face brightened and he reached out for her hand.

“Hey, little girl, want some candy?” he said with a leer as he pulled her to sit on his left thigh. “If you reach down real deep in my left pocket I’m sure you’ll find something for your pretty little mouth.”

“Mommy and Daddy always told me to never accept candy from strangers,” she cooed, smoothing her fingers over his face as he lowered his head to within a breath of hers.

“Well, let’s get better acquainted, then,” was his reply as he lowered his mouth to hers.


	15. Never and Always Touching and Touched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics Credit:
> 
> "When You Say Nothing At All" as sung by Alison Krauss, 1994

Greg House limped into the great room and paused at the sight before him, one he knew he would never get tired of  as long as he lived. Sabrina was curled up on the sofa, afghan drawn up around her knees, firelight accentuating her features. _Damn, he was one lucky bastard,_ he thought as he went over to the wet bar, where Elaine had already left a tray of snacks and a pitcher of tea. _Tea. Dear God,_ he thought, smothering a grin. _Wilson would never let him hear the end of it._

 

“Want anything?” he said aloud.

 

“Just your ass over here. You promised, remember?”

 

He let out a long sigh, making sure it was loud and long-suffering in tone. “You may live to regret this, you know. I’m no musician. Especially compared to a dame with platinum albums lining the staircase.”

 

“Greg...” Her voice dropped to a low warning tone. “You want laid tonight?”

 

“Heh. I can beat off easily enough,” he quipped, repressing a smirk at the withering look she gave him.

 

“Fine. I’ll just use my vibrator instead.”

 

“Yeah, but can a vibrator do this?” Greg extended his tongue, then began making flicking motions with it, pleased to see the glazed look in her eyes. “Didn’t think so.” He shuffled over to where his piano now resided across from the sofa. Elaine had polished the grand to a fine, warm shine, ridding it of all the glass rings, spills, other signs of neglect over the years. He had, however, rejected the vase of flowers she’d set on the lid, with a firm, “Nothing girlie on my piano.”

 

The entire hospital was flying with gossip at the speed with which House had moved in with her. Little did others know about his strongarming Sabrina into having her lawyer draw up a domestic agreement so that there would be no question as to his intentions. That was his condition for moving in with her and she’d reluctantly accepted it.

 

Next month she was leaving for a brief tour of the United Kingdom, with concerts in London, Edinburgh, Glasgow and Dublin. He’d known she’d be back within a few days and insisted he’d be fine; she’d bugged him to actually take a vacation and join her. Damned if Cuddy wasn’t on her side and after him to do something human for a change. He’d grumbled, then gave in, pretending that cruising the pubs would be the high point, when in reality being with his woman was what he wanted.

 

So there he was, sitting at his piano and gazing across the firelight at her. He had to admit that it felt good sharing space with the woman he loved. No matter how bitterly sarcastic House was, he’d jump through hoops for her. _Well, as best as he could with a gimp leg,_ he thought wrily. _Piano she wanted, piano she’d get. Yup, he was whipped, all right. Wrapped right around her little finger, and damned if he didn’t love it._

 

He waggled his brows at her then lowered hands to the keys, bit back a grin and began playing the Looney Tunes theme. A snicker came from the sofa and he knew he’d hit the mark.

 

“You are what you play, huh?” Sabrina giggled when he went into “Three Blind Mice.” “Now _that’s_ the way to win a woman’s heart.”

 

House paused, looked up at her, then began to play again. This time it was started slow, classical in feel, and Sabrina tipped her head to listen thoughtfully. _He was beautiful when he played, _she decided, taking in the way his eyes were shut, and how he swayed with the easy rhythm. Quietly she got up and tip-toed over to him, then sat down on the bench next to him at his left.

 

“You like?” He didn’t miss a beat or open his eyes.

 

“That I do. I recognize it. Shows our ages, though.”

 

“Speak for yourself.” He drew in a breath sharply when she leaned up to nip at his earlobe. “So, bluegrass lady, which song is it?”

 

“‘Love Theme From Romeo and Juliet.’” Now her tongue was bathing the side of his neck and he groaned, forcing himself to continue playing. “You play beautifully, Greg,” she added quietly, running her hand up and down his arm. “Full of emotion.”

 

“Like you play the fiddle,” was his response as his hands glided along the keys. “Next time I want a duet.”

 

“That can be arranged.” Her fingertips traced one hand, then the other. “Beautiful fingers, very eloquent. Pianist’s hands.” She felt him shudder as she caressed the back of his hands, then moved up to one shoulder, then down across his chest to palm one firm pectoral muscle through his tee shirt.

 

_Keep playing,_ he told himself, arching into her hand. He faltered when she lightly pinched a nipple, getting a soft laugh from her. “I thought you wanted me to play the piano,” he chided gently, his breath hitching when that same hand slid down his abdomen.

 

“So, what’s stopping you? Surely not little ol’ me.” She traced the outline of the rapidly growing bulge in his jeans and he jerked, then gave up playing and started to pull her to him. Playfully she evaded his grasp with a shake of her finger.

 

“No touching. Hands on the bench.” His eyebrows shot up and she grinned. “Gregory, do as I say.”

 

His hands dropped to the bench automatically while his mind whirled with possibilities. Usually he was the dominant one when they played in the bedroom. This time... he groaned when she unzipped his fly then pulled down on his jeans and boxer shorts. His cock sprang free and she purred with delight.

 

“Why Gregory, I believe you’re happy to see me.” She lifted her mouth to his at the precise moment that her hand encircled him and began to lightly stroke. Her tongue dove into his mouth, flicking over the roof, twirling playfully around his. Hungrily he responded, his teeth nibbling at her lips, tongue dancing with hers. Her lips left his and began licking their way up to his ear.

 

“Take off your shirt,” she commanded softly, nipping the skin below his ear. When he did she took it from him, gratified to see his hands go back to the bench again. “So obedient.” To his puzzlement she folded the tee shirt and dropped it neatly on the floor between his legs. A groan escaped him when she lazily removed her tee shirt and gave it the same treatment, baring her from the waist up.

 

“No bra?” _Shit._ He clenched his hands tightly into the bench cushion as she undid the drawstring to her sweatpants and let them fall to her feet, leaving her in lace panties. When she lowered herself to the floor, kneeling on the small pile of clothing to cushion her knees, his eyes went wide with realization.

 

“Hey, I’m not twenty anymore,” she offered by way of explanation as her fingertips went to the waistband on his jeans. “Stand up, Gregory.” He did, leaning on her for support as she pulled his jeans and boxer shorts down to his ankles, taking extra care over his right thigh. At her order he sat down again, lifting his feet obediently when she finished removing his clothing.

 

“Much better, Gregory.” That throaty purr made him ache to seize her hair and shove his cock into her mouth. _No, he’d tie her hands behind her back first. _That thought flew out of his mind when she slid her hands up and down his thighs, followed by her tongue. Her hand encircled his cock, tighter, firmer this time. Leisurely she stroked, smiling impishly as his breath quickened, body trembled, moans coming from him.

 

“Dear... God...”

 

“Do you like that, Gregory? Do you want more?”

 

“Please... yes....”

 

The swipe of her tongue across the head of his cock caused him to gasp and throw his head back, a shudder coming from him when her mouth enveloped him. His hands gripped the bench harder and he grit his teeth when she slowly worked her head up and down along his length.

 

“You’re... gonna... be... the... death... of... me...”

 

“Such a fantastic way to go, don’t you think? Mmmm... “ She paused to cradle his cock between her breasts and squeezed, giggling when he let out a growl. Desire began centering around his cock and what her mouth and body were doing to him. _Niiiiccceee..._ One hand began to tease at his balls, then slid underneath to lightly probe; he cried out and thrust helplessly into her mouth.

 

“Do you want to come, Gregory?”

 

“Yes...” He’d gotten beyond the point of no return; the right move from her and he’d lose it.

 

“What do you say?”

 

“Pl-please...”

 

“Ooo, he begs so nicely.” She raked her nails up and down his thighs. “Gregory?”

 

“Y-yes?”

 

“You can put your hands on me if you like.”

 

_Thank God. _He sank his hands into her hair and thrust upward, enfolding himself around her, letting out one long gutteral groan. White-hot tracers exploded behind his eyes and he arched, emptying into the warmth of her mouth.

 

For a long moment he held her to him, head resting on top of hers, her arms around his hips as she nuzzled him lightly. Finally she stirred, letting go of him and rising to her feet.

 

“Get up,  Gregory.”

 

He grabbed his cane and hauled himself to his feet, feeling his cock start to stir again. _Obviously she wasn’t done bossing him around. _She picked up the two tee shirts, dragged the bench over to one side of the Steinway, spread the shirts on top of the lid, then pulled herself up onto it and sat with her legs dangling over the side, using the shirts as a light cushion.

 

“Don’t want to scratch the surface,” she said sweetly. “Sit.”

 

If it hadn’t been for his bad leg House would have made it there in record time. As it was he lowered himself to the bench and forced himself not to touch her as she languidly spread her thighs. A damp spot darkened the crotch of her panties, showing him how aroused she was. And her scent... his nostrils flared as the sweetness of her musk reached him.

 

“Do you have any idea how much sucking you off turned me on?” He watched, swallowing hard when one feminine hand moved to toy with her breasts, the other slowly inching down her abdomen. “To see you like that, all hot and helpless, your face...” Her fingers pushed the crotch of her panties aside and he grit his teeth as the sight of how swollen and wet she was. One delicate finger skimmed along her clit and he groaned, getting a giggle from her.

 

“Getting hot, Gregory?”

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

Her eyebrows rose and she chuckled. “Very obedient.” He watched her fingers dance across her clit, listened to her moans, and he suddenly got hard. _Damn. _She reached to insert her wet fingers in his mouth and he licked off her essence, taking his time to suck each fingernail while he gaze never left hers. _Come on, baby,_ he let his eyes say to her. _Let me fuck you real good._

“Gregory, remove my panties.” Her breath was coming in short pants, telling him she was about to give up control.

“Are you sure, Sabrina?” He let his voice drop to a low purr, enjoying the shift in power, the way she was giving her control to him.

 

“Yes... please.”

 

“That’s a good girl. Of course, this means I’ll have to touch you.”

 

“T-touch me. Please.”

 

With one fluid move he reached at the sides of her panties and yanked, tearing the lace as he ripped them off of her. Much better, he thought hungrily, toying with the curls at the crest of her thighs. She shivered, her eyes closing when his finger traced along her folds, teasing at her clit, skimming over her entrance.

 

“You’re mine. Say it.”

 

“I’m... yours.”

 

He chuckled, sliding one finger inside of her, then removing it as she squirmed. One hand reached down to the piano bench and he scooted forward, bringing his mouth within a breath of her. _Ah. Better._ He turned his head and nuzzled her thigh, then drew a love bite on her tender skin. “Uhmmm, very nice. I think I’ve found the one girlie thing that can sit on my piano.”

 

He lifted her thighs over his shoulders as she lay back on the piano lid, listening to his whispered words of encouragement. Then his tongue found her and she cried out softly, her hands reaching down to slide into his hair. _God, if there was anything better than the taste of his woman he hadn’t found it yet,_ he thought as he slid his tongue inside of her, along her folds, then finally across her clit. Her moans grew louder, her hips thrusting along him.

 

“Pl-please ...” _Ah, her flavor was changing, which meant..._ he slid two fingers into her and drew her clit into his mouth, sucking, nibbling. Immediately she came undone, sobbing out his name, then screaming when he hauled himself to his feet, leaned over her and guided himself into her.

 

“F-f-fuck me, Greg, fuck...” Her nails found his back at the same moment their souls melded. _Dear God, sweet, slick... damn... fuck... more...yes...hot..._

 

“Yes!” His mouth crushed hers as he surged into her one last aching time, containing her cry of release as his hips jerked against hers. Slowly he sank against her, feeling the hotness of her wet femininity cradling him, the sweat that they’d both worked up in their lovemaking, the ache in his thigh that was screaming for a Vicodin.

 

_Worth any amount of pain._

_Definitely._

_Love._

_Trust._

_Never and always. _

_Touching and touched. _


	16. Epilogue – A Few Years Later

_The night air carried the music clear to the stars and out into the universe._

Sabrina came out to thundering applause, Whistle Stop right behind her, for the encore. Side stage behind the curtains, House was leisurely sitting in a recliner and clapping along with the music. Over the years he’d accompanied her for the occasional concert while she was on tour, drawn to her to fill the ache of being separated; drawn back to Princeton to fill the need he had inside to diagnose the impossible. The tours were getting shorter and less frequent as time went on, much to the relief of the band members who had families at home.

So there she was, surrounded by her band members and bowing before taking stance in front of the microphone. Del did the count-off and they went into “Oh Atlanta,” a favorite concert closer with crowds. The music was more bluesy than her usual, with a seductive tone that caused her to sway her hips and get cheers from the men in the crowd. Between instrumental bridges she danced in front of the mic, getting more whoops and hollers.

As was usual for the finale she moved to the top of one of the large speakers and extended her arms out to the crowd... and her world suddenly veered off sideways, airborne, then... thud... and nothing.

“Sabrina!”

She blinked into reality to see House above her, his eyes wide as Del helped him down next to her. “I-I... what...” _Damn, her ankle was throbbing._

“Speaker stand not fastened down correctly,” Del muttered darkly as EMTs began making their way through. House was going over her thoroughly, swearing profusely.

“Stop it, honey,” she chided, reaching up to touch his salt-and-pepper hair. “I’ll be fine.”

“Tell that to your ankle. Hurt?” He gently turned it and she winced. “Uh huh. Broken. You might be shopping for a cane to match mine soon.”

Suddenly a commotion and a childish voice screaming “I can help!” made them all turn in time to see a young girl worm her way under the fence and through legs, evading security as neatly as a cat. Hair tangled, face streaked with dirt from having crawled on the ground, the girl slipped right through Del’s legs and nearly fell on her husband.

“Goddammit, what are you doing?” he growled out, waving to security. “Get this kid out of...”

“No, I can help.”

Sabrina gasped as the girl laid her hands on her ankle and closed her eyes. The pain intensified, then ebbed away and was gone. Tentatively she moved it, then rotated it freely, her eyes widening. _No longer broken. What the hell? She was an adult. It couldn’t be._ House probed her ankle and looked up at her, confirming her suspicions.

_Strange._

_Maybe._

“Goddess Bless,” the girl murmured, tracing the sign of the pentagram on her ankle. She looked up at the couple and smiled gently.

“Wait, what’s your name, hon?” Sabrina asked as they all rose to their feet. “And, I don’t get it, I thought...”

“My Craft name is Cerwidwen, but my mundane name is Sebrina. Merry Part.” With that, the girl dove back under everyone and disappeared into the crowd. For a long moment Sabrina stared after the direction where she’d vanished, speechless, then turned to House. He was grinning from ear-to-ear and shaking his head.

_One word._

_I’ll bite._

_Evolve._


End file.
